Ace
by KuzAnn
Summary: Graves has Twisted Fate on the run. The Card Master must now rely on his wit, luck and magic to survive, but there's no guarantee that he'll be able to outpace Graves's vengeance or the dark entity that dogs him.
1. Chapter 1: Ruin

**Chapter 1: Ruin**

The hideaway was damp and filled with the musty smell of mold, the relic of a time when Piltover was outright hostile to gypsies, back before Caitlyn became the city's sheriff. It was an underground chamber built beneath a large forest, using the massive roots of its trees as support columns, a place where a band of gypsies could easily hide their women and children if bandits, crime lords, or even Piltovan law enforcement came looking for trouble. The chamber had not been used or even opened in many years, but it suited Twisted Fate's needs for the moment. Light from a small lantern illuminated the corner of the chamber that he'd seated himself in, throwing areas behind the tree roots into masses of confusing shadow.

Twisted Fate wrapped a clean length of bandage around the knuckles of his right hand, taking one loose end in his still-bleeding left hand and the other in his teeth to tie it off. He winced when the bandages slipped painfully as he pulled them tight. In his anger he'd repeatedly bashed his fists against one of the larger tree roots that made up the support columns of the hideaway, and unfortunately they had proved to be just as rough and covered in bark as the actual trunks were. With the bleeding staunched on his right hand, Twisted Fate did the same to his left, working a bit more carefully this time to avoid making the bandages slip.

Once his knuckles had been seen to, Fate leaned back against the root he was sitting in front of with a long sigh. He was dressed in a blue denim shirt, black vest, and blue jeans with brown cowboy boots, casual wear since he'd been on leave from his duty to the League for two more days. Weary gloom haunted his pale blue eyes; it had been hard, having to remember the living hell he'd experienced in the wake of the massacre, but being blamed for the very event that ruined his life twenty years ago was far worse.

The League would be looking for him, as well as Graves and probably Caitlyn too, now that he'd disappeared. Graves was a guarantee for sure, as well as that dark mage... He couldn't let any of them find him, especially the League. The cards had told him the League would cause his death if they found out about his connection to the massacre, and he wasn't going to let them catch him now that they knew so much about it.

One week prior to his current predicament, a chance encounter had led to Caitlyn getting a confession out of him with a truth potion, and then she'd wanted to help solve his case... He'd been a fool to believe Caitlyn could help. The entire contents of that same case file—new information and all—somehow ended up in the hands of the Zaunite press just a week after she found out, but it was worse than just a leak. Somewhere along the line between the Archives and the Zaunite press, his eyewitness report had been changed to a confession of guilt for being involved in carrying out the massacre. It was a blow that made him burn with fury whenever he thought about it, and he would gladly kill whoever was responsible. Twisted Fate didn't know whether Caitlyn was involved with that leak or not, but wasn't taking any chances with her. He should have known better than to trust a sheriff of Piltover, even if she wasn't like her crooked predecessor at all. Maybe the city as a whole was just bad luck for him.

They would be searching the Piltovan countryside soon, if they hadn't started already. He'd made only one jump with Gate, so he wasn't beyond where they would be looking just yet. He had to be in or beyond the Ironspike Mountains to stay out of Piltover's reach. Luckily this hideaway had not caved in and revealed itself in its long years of disuse, and the thick foliage that had grown around its entrances made it even harder to find now than ever before. Twisted Fate would be safely hidden as long as he stayed here, and even if it was somehow found he could easily leave in a hurry.

Twisted Fate's injured knuckles throbbed as he sat there and planed his next move. The lands beyond the Great Barrier were not as densely populated as those to its north, there would be less people to look for him down there. That seemed like his best bet for the time being. He could easily get there within a few days if he paced himself and didn't waste magic. And after that...

The lack of a better, more permanent plan bothered Twisted Fate, but he would have to make due until he came up with something. None of his pursuers would give up the hunt anytime soon, that was for sure, but he could survive on what he had packed in his bag of holding for quite a while if he was smart. It had everything he needed in case anything unexpected happened, and it was something he brought with him everywhere—you never knew what problems life might throw your way.

After checking his bandages again, Twisted Fate retrieved a small rune stone that produced a soft red glow from his bag and placed it beside him before extinguishing the lantern and putting it away. He didn't know if he would be able to get any sleep at all, but it was worth a try. Rest was needed in order to get to the Ironspike Mountains in the morning. Twisted Fate lowered himself to the dusty floor, pulled his hat down over his eyes, and did his best to make himself relax.

* * *

Anyone who said that holding the station of sheriff in Piltover didn't pay well was either lying or kidding himself. Caitlyn's study was finely furnished in shades of deep brown and red, giving it a warm, cozy feel even on the coldest of winter's nights. Shelves of dark hardwood stocked with books on law and other similar subjects lined the walls, interrupted only by the two large windows that looked out over the City of Progress, which now gleamed in the darkness of late evening. A lamp set on the large mahogany desk that ruled the study, along with two fine chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, provided light for Caitlyn to pace by.

Caitlyn herself was about ready to kick a table over. They had been making such progress with the case, they had even identified who the culprit was, and now everything was ruined thanks to the rats over in Zaun getting their greedy mitts on the case files. Just the fact that it was _Zaun's_ press reporting the information from the leak first was an extra slap in the face, but that wasn't the worst of the situation. The fact that someone had changed the files to make Twisted Fate directly involved with the massacre made Caitlyn herself look bad as well, and the League had already succeeded in getting her suspended from her duties as sheriff so they could investigate the matter themselves. She had lost a lot of credibility because of this, and the Piltovan government had even gone so far as to confiscate her rifle and equipment and place her under house arrest until further notice.

It wasn't just the leak and the outright lie that the press had taken as the truth that galled her, though. Before the events of the past week, Caitlyn had always thought of Twisted Fate as nothing more than a shallow, petty crook and nothing more. It was the way a lot of people thought of him, especially after hearing that he'd sold out Graves in exchange for his magical abilities. What Caitlyn had learned in the past week had forced her to re-evaluate her view of Twisted Fate—the crook was a mask that Fate wore to hide himself. Like his signature hat, it was the first thing you expected to see and the last you would ever think to look past, a well-made cover that Caitlyn had unintentionally torn clean off during the course of her investigations. It was the fact that she had developed feelings for the man behind the mask that made her heart jump whenever she thought about it, and Fate's disappearance had only served to put her further on edge, both from worry and from anger over his having so little faith in her.

With a deep frown and a slight blush, Caitlyn leaned against the front of her desk and did her best to shove the thought of her new-found feelings for Twisted Fate away. It was a distraction she didn't want to deal with, especially with the mess she had to clean up. The citizens of Piltover were calling for blood, but not Caitlyn's—they had already gotten it into their heads that Twisted Fate was responsible for corrupting their beloved sheriff, and she had come upon the terrible realization that they would likely try to kill him if he ever showed himself in the city again. Really, she couldn't blame him for leaving with how Piltover had become so ugly with hate practically overnight.

Caitlyn pushed off her desk and began pacing again. She would have to escape, since she was under house arrest. True justice required a bit of rule breaking this time, though she hated the thought of further destroying her credibility by disobeying the government of Piltover and the League. Graves was first on her list of suspects when it came to the leak and drastic change in the case files, but she had to have solid proof of his guilt before trying to make a case against him.

Unnoticed in the darkness just beyond Caitlyn's window, a shadow shifted and began to glide away. Pale moonlight glinted off red-tinted glass as the Night Hunter went on her way, having finished her observation of the former Sheriff of Piltover.

* * *

An upstate coffee shop in Piltover was one of the last places most would expect to see Graves. The place bustled even at this late hour, with most of the patrons discussing the main news of the day in barely-restrained whispers. A caffeinated drink was just fine with Graves for now, he wanted to savor these moments in complete sobriety. He took a big gulp of his coffee and grinned as he set the newspaper down on the table, casually eavesdropping on the conversations around him.

"—can you believe the League never knew about this?"

"—knew the guy was rotten, but I never thought he'd be capable of something so _evil_."

"I can't believe he got Miss Caitlyn into so much trouble. He'd better not show his face around these parts ever again!"

"—always knew those gypsies were trouble, don't know why the League let trash like him join in the first place."

It was like music to his ears. Piltover had been in an uproar ever since news broke about Twisted Fate having a direct hand in the murder of his own family, and the subsequent scandal surrounding Sheriff Caitlyn as a result had only served to make the public even angrier. The story would have drummed up sympathy for Twisted Fate if released in its unaltered form, so Graves had gone through and made a few choice modifications before anonymously sending it to the Zaunite press. He'd read the whole file cover to cover before changing anything and Twisted Fate's all-consuming desire for magic made sense now, but he still had to pay for what he had done to Graves. Loyalty, even among criminals, wasn't something to simply toss away like a piece of trash in the face of a tempting prize.

Twisted Fate would be laying low for a while, given his completely ruined reputation and his reported wariness of the League should information on his past ever get out. Graves wondered if the Card Master had fallen out of practice with the disguises the two once used while still working as conmen, and his grin widened as he anticipated finding him again. It wouldn't be as easy as finding Twisted Fate at the League had been, but his ex-partner's habits had not changed all that much over the years, which meant he would find the Card Master again sooner or later. He already had a few good ideas lined up for making Twisted Fate suffer even more, and he was eager to set his plans in motion. Having a chat with Dr. Xavier Rath over in Zaun would have to be the first item on his list. He had to find out whether the rumors about the scientist's tendency toward inhumane experimentation were true.

"Well. You look happy tonight, Malcom Graves."

Graves looked up to find Jayce standing over him, the famous Mercury Hammer strapped securely to the inventor's back. Jayce's face held a barely-contained anger that was doubtless a result of the news of the day.

"Well it ain't every day you get to see someone you hate suffer," Graves replied with a smirk, raising his coffee in a toast to Twisted Fate's misfortune and future demise. "I s'pose you're real angry about all this just like everyone else, right?"

Jayce looked away with a scowl. "I should've known something was wrong when they started spending so much time together," his voice was gruff as he spoke. He was angry over Caitlyn supposedly being duped or bewitched, sure, but it wasn't that alone that made him so angry—Vi was also held under suspicion and had been detained after she protested Caitlyn's temporary removal from service.

"But you were too _gentlemanly_ to say anything about it, weren't ya?" Graves said smoothly. He knew an easily-played fool when he saw one, and Jayce could make a valuable ally somewhere down the road. The Outlaw took another gulp of coffee and set his cup back down on the table. It tasted wonderfully vibrant tonight, a product of his good mood.

Jayce affirmed Graves's statement with his silence, though the Outlaw knew it wasn't just a "gentlemanly" attitude that kept the inventor from speaking up. It was a good bet that Jayce had respected Caitlyn too much to say anything, and had therefore been unwilling to take such a risk despite his suspicions.

Graves allowed a few moments to pass before he spoke again. "You gonna go hunt him down?" he asked, sounding like he was only half-interested.

"I would if he were easier to find. I'm afraid it would be a waste of time if _I_ were to go after him," Jayce replied, taking a seat across from Graves when the Outlaw gave the invitation with a nod of his head. "And I assume you'll start looking for him soon?"

"That's right," Graves leaned back in his chair, undaunted by the amount of work it would take to find Twisted Fate again. "He can't hide from me forever. His teleportation might be a new trick, but otherwise he hasn't changed all that much from when I knew him."

Jayce appeared to be thinking something over, and Graves could almost hear the wheels turning inside the inventor's head. It would be nice if he could persuade the man to provide him with a few new gadgets to use on his hunt. "If I were to come up with a few gadgets to help neutralize his abilities, would you care to use them?"

"Of course," Graves replied graciously. Inwardly, he grinned like a wolf stalking an unattended flock of sheep. He wouldn't put it past Jayce to make those gadgets more painful for Twisted Fate than they needed to be. It looked like this hunt would turn out to be even more fun than Graves had anticipated.

"Come by my lab tomorrow," Jayce already had a small leather notebook and a pen out. He jotted down the address to his lab, tore the page from the book, and passed the paper to to Graves. "I'll see what I can do."

* * *

Twisted Fate woke to the sensation of a large stag beetle crawling across his neck. It was irritating to say the least, but not enough so to merit smashing the poor insect, and Fate flicked it off as he sat up. He retrieved a small timekeeper from his breast pocket and checked the hour. It was nearly dawn, he'd managed to sleep for around seven hours before waking. An unpleasant tingling feeling had settled over his body while he slept, like a static-filled blanket had been dropped on top of him. It made him nervous now, since he had no ready explanation for its presence, and he started to climb to his feet.

Something scratched against the hard earth floor of the hideaway, and Twisted Fate paused as he listened for it again, his heart racing. Surely they hadn't caught up with him already. He hoped it was just an animal inspecting the recent disturbance in the underground chamber. Even a cougar or some other predator would be preferable—predatory animals didn't throw magic in your face or try to lynch you for pissing them off.

The scratching came again a few seconds later, this time noticeably closer to Twisted Fate and off to his right. Slowly he picked up the glow stone and held it a bit higher to throw light on whatever the intruder might be. He squinted into the darkness, then leaped to his feet as a large form loomed out of the black backdrop of the chamber. Shock almost made him drop the glow stone, and he fumbled with it briefly before getting a tighter hold on it, careful to keep his eyes on whatever was approaching him all the while.

It was too big to be a bear, and its shape seemed wrong—the bulkiness of the shoulders and legs matched, but the head was far too big. Twisted Fate could feel his stomach knotting up from fear as he backed away from the thing, and his heart sank when a second and third loomed out of the darkness to lumber toward him as well. The carved edge of a rune glinted in the faint red glow of his light stone, confirming his fear. These things were constructs, man-made and run by magic, but they were unlike any he had seen before, much more organic in shape and structure than the angular robots he was used to seeing.

The nearest construct slowly moved its head from side to side, apparently sizing him up. Another opened its mouth slightly and closed it again, displaying jaws that could easily crush a fully-grown draft horse. Even as Twisted Fate began to back toward the root stand behind him, the two constructs following the lead were spreading out to cut off his escape. It meant they possessed well-written programming or were being directly controlled by their creator.

Carefully, Fate began to slip himself between the roots, putting the tangle between himself and the constructs. He couldn't rush Gate, one slip-up could easily lead to disaster if he wasn't lucky. If you made a mistake with teleportation magic or used it recklessly, you usually wound up dead inside a wall or some other solid object. It was only pure luck that had allowed him to survive the very first time he used it.

Twisted Fate could hear constructs on all sides now. He wedged himself as far back into the mass of roots as he could, until his shoulder blades touched the cold dirt of the wall behind him. It would take a while even for three sets of those massive jaws to make it through a mess like this, plenty of time to prepare his Gate properly. He tucked the glow stone into a pocket on his vest, plunging himself and the constructs into darkness. In a cramped space like this, he felt more comfortable leaving both of his hands free for casting the spell.

Even as Twisted Fate began the spell, it felt more difficult than it had just eight hours earlier. He forced his way through it regardless, he had no chance against opponents like these in a normal fight. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the spell was almost finished. Twisted Fate braced himself against the roots, ready to step through the Gate once it opened.

The spell died just before the Gate was able to form itself completely. Fear nearly choked him as he felt the magic fade and slip from his control. This had never happened to him before, his magic had never failed him like this. Twisted Fate broke out into a cold sweat as he began the spell again, unwilling to accept defeat just yet.

On all sides the constructs began to move, clamping their massive jaws onto the tree roots in front of them and tearing them away. Wood splintered and screamed, seeming to curse the constructs as they steadily worked inward to where Twisted Fate was hidden. It would only take them a few minutes to get all the way through.

This time the Gate worked. Twisted Fate could sense it hanging in the air before him, even though he couldn't see it. For some reason it wasn't visible this time.

Frenzied activity exploded on all sides as the constructs increased their speed. They had sensed the Gate and were trying to reach Twisted Fate in time to keep him from using it. The sound of snapping and splintering wood was deafening, and some of the roots were rent with such violence that they showered Twisted Fate with dirt and wood fragments.

The construct to his right managed to snag one of its triangular teeth on Twisted Fate's pant leg and began to pull him out of his hiding place, moving slowly and steadily to avoid ripping it and losing its hold on him. Twisted Fate clutched at a large root over his head and wrenched his leg back, ripping the fabric of his jeans on the construct's tooth to free himself. Another lunged in to grab him as he jumped through the Gate.

In an instant Twisted Fate found himself staring up at the fading stars of predawn, framed by the leaves of the large shrub he'd landed in. The unpleasant tingling sensation he'd noticed earlier was gone, replaced by the pain of a battered body and cramped muscles. He realized that the constructs must have been carrying a spatial distortion field with them, a techmaturgical invention made specifically to disrupt or prevent the use of teleportation magic. He'd read about the terrible consequences of using teleportation within a distortion field, some left bits of themselves behind while others arrived at their destination as piles of flesh and bone. Just the thought of what could have happened to him made his stomach turn. He was lucky to be alive.

Twisted Fate tried to sit up, but he only managed to lift his knees a few inches before he collapsed again. It felt like everything was there, the pain in every limb and muscle certainly confirmed that. Landing in the bush was another stroke of luck, since it would hide him from anyone passing nearby. The only complaint he had was that the bush possessed a great many thorns and had already managed to scratch him up in quite a few places, adding the sting of the small cuts on top of his pain-stricken muscles. He took the thorns as a warning to avoid trying something so stupid again and waited for the pain in his body to ease up.

* * *

"Useless," Dr. Rath grumbled, glaring down at the bloodied man at his feet. The test subject had once been an inmate at Zaun's main penitentiary, and was purchased by Dr. Rath when the scientist had found that the man possessed some small amount of the illusive probability magic. Blood ran from the man's eyes, nose, mouth and ears as a result of severe internal damage, and it was clear that he would not live much longer. "Healing magic won't work anymore. Dispose of him," with a dismissive wave of his hand, Dr. Rath turned from the dying man and began to make his way to the door.

"Dr. Rath, Dr. Rath!" the assistant was so excited that he nearly tripped over himself as he dashed through the door to stop before his superior. "The—gkhah..." he wheezed and gasped for breath as Dr. Rath waited for him to continue.

"Well? Out with it!" Dr. Rath snapped impatiently. He still had the results of the experiment to log, disappointing though they were.

"The Probability Distortion Detector just picked up a massive reading from somewhere on this continent," the assistant said, having finally managed to get his breath back.

Dr. Rath's face lit up instantly, the disappointing results of his last experiment entirely forgotten. Without another word to his assistant, Dr. Rath rushed past and made his way to the PDD.

The Probability Distortion Detector was a machine of Dr. Rath's own design, made specifically to measure the effects of probability magic on the natural forces of Runeterra. Since its completion several months prior, it had not picked up anything of note. It had detected a few minor fluctuations at best, but for the most part it remained quiet, its stylus scratching away at the usual rhythm of random chance. To any normal person it would have looked like a needlessly complex seismograph, one that had just detected a major earthquake from how the stylus whipped across the paper.

"Excellent," Dr. Rath lifted the long length of paper as it came out of the machine and examined the lines with great enthusiasm. "It must've been him, no one else could produce a disruption this large." The scientist continued to mumble to himself as his assistant looked on.

"Who?"

Dr. Rath was startled out of his examination by the voice of his assistant. It took him a few moments to realize what the man was asking about, and his face took on the expression of utmost disdain. "You haven't been here long, have you?" he asked.

"I started last month, sir," the assistant replied, unsure as to whether he was in trouble or not.

"Twisted Fate," Dr. Rath said flatly as he straightened, PDD paper still in hand. "As you may be aware, I have experimented with artificially granting powerless individuals the ability to use magic before."

"And were unsuccessful in almost every case."

"That's right. _All_ cases save for one, in fact. We hadn't yet developed the tools to confirm the presence of probability magic in an individual, and he escaped before we realized what a catch he was. It was only when we tested a blood sample of his after the fact that we confirmed that, and by then he was protected by the League of Legends and untouchable by the likes of us." Dr. Rath's fingers tightened around the strip of paper, causing it to crumple slightly.

The assistant's face brightened, and he retrieved the morning paper from a pocket in his lab coat. "He might not be so untouchable now, sir."

Dr. Rath accepted the newspaper and spotted the story on the first page. "So he's gone on the run. It shouldn't be difficult to make him disappear entirely."


	2. Chapter 2: Border Patrol

**Chapter 2: Border Patrol**

Tryndamere watched the sun rise over the still-distant Ironspike Mountains as his men broke camp. He was seated near the top of a massive pine, an easy climb for someone of his strength. Sometimes it was nice to just sit back and watch the sun rise. The sapphire gems embedded in his armor and sword hilt blazed in the early morning light, hinting at their magical properties.

Word had come of suspicious activity occurring all along the southern and eastern borders of Freljord in recent weeks. Tryndamere had been reviewing the border guard of the Ironspike region at the time, and had insisted that he accompany the guard to see what the disturbance might be for himself. The reports claimed that strange massive creatures were being sighted all along the border, but there had been no attacks thus far. Hopefully gathering more information on them would help to prevent such an event from ever taking place in the future.

The Barbarian King glanced back at the camp and noted that his men were almost finished packing the horses. They were steeds of the sturdy tundra breed, spirited as they were strong and with a shaggy stockiness to match. He made his way down the tree trunk and dropped from the lowest branch as a hawk swooped into the camp. It was one of Ashe's pets, specially trained to deliver messages and hunt small game for its master while out in the field.

With an ear-splitting screech the hawk flew over to Tryndamere and landed on his offered gauntlet, where it waited somewhat impatiently for him to remove its message from the scroll case on its back. Tryndamere undid the clasp that held the case shut and pulled the message free. The hawk flew off immediately after Tryndamere took the message, and he didn't pay it another thought as he unrolled the parchment.

It was a letter from Ashe, with clippings from yesterday's edition of the Piltover Times rolled inside it. Tryndamere took a seat beneath the tree he'd climbed earlier and set the clippings aside for the moment so he could read her letter.

_Tryndamere,_

_ Twisted Fate has gone rogue and left the League. They have authorized the use of force in capturing him, and I am certain that they will owe Freljord a few favors in the event that we bring him in. But political favor is not the only reason I am sending this letter to you. After you read the story I sent with this letter, I am sure that you will take great pleasure in bringing him down. I wish you the best of luck._

_ Sincerely,_

_ Ashe_

Tryndamere set the letter aside and began reading the newspaper clippings Ashe had sent with it. His expression darkened as he read the article, and his eyes were hard and focused once he had finished.

One of the border guards approached Tryndamere and gave him a short bow of respect. "Your orders, my king?"

"We head to Steelgate Pass. Twisted Fate is wanted by the League and he might be passing through there on his way through the Ironspike Mountains," Tryndamere replied as he got to his feet. Though in the long years since his clan's extermination he had been unable to avenge himself on the Noxian scum who had killed them, he would find great pleasure in bringing down someone who had inflicted the same on his own people. The fact that he would be snatching a League favor out of Noxus's grasp was a nice bonus as well.

"Yes sir," the barbarian grunted, nodding and returning to the horses.

Tryndamere tucked the letter and clippings into his belt and strode toward the horses. He felt alive, the anticipation of the battle to come coursing through him as he walked. Mages could be tricky to fight, but his armor and his blade had been enchanted against most magics as well as enhancing his strength and speed. The challenge was getting him excited, and his steed snorted and pawed the at the loam of the forest floor in response to his master's elevated mood. The Barbarian King's horse was dark gray like a storm cloud and larger than his fellows, bred and trained for battle.

"To Steelgate," Tryndamere barked as he pulled himself into the saddle. His horse let out a shrill challenge to match his master's battle lust and raced off at Tryndamere's urging, galloping at the head of the border guard group.

* * *

Pain and exhaustion made movement difficult. Twisted Fate had managed to move his head to look around at the bush he was concealed in during the few hours he'd lain there, and he could see his hat caught on a branch just above him. He was grateful for that, since he had a strong emotional attachment to that hat. It had been with him since he first joined the League, and was similar in style to one that had been worn by a mentor of his from many years ago.

Twisted Fate sat up slowly as he tried to avoid tearing himself up on the bush's thorns and took his hat from where it hung. There was no way to get out of the bush without simply plowing through it, so Twisted Fate jammed his hat onto his head and shoved his way out of the bush. He was rewarded with a great many more cuts than he'd gotten already, but at least it was over and he could get going again.

The bush was just a few yards from the main road leading to Steelgate Pass, and Twisted Fate could see its gravel-covered length stretching out of sight beyond another stand of bushes. Forest-covered foothills stretched out beneath him and eventually flattened out into the plain that the city of Piltover had been built upon. He looked down at himself and grumbled quietly; his shirt and vest had been ruined by the bush's thorns. The jeans had fared better since they were made of tougher fabric, but they were ripped from the golem trying to drag him away and looked ratty because of that.

It still hurt to move, and walking was especially painful due to the bruising on the bottoms of his feet. He may have survived through teleporting out of the distortion field, but the event had certainly not been kind to him either. Twisted Fate retrieved a health potion from his bag and downed it in a single gulp. The taste was familiar, chalky with a little bit of fruity flavor. They were the same the League used, as he'd been careful to buy his own supply from the same skillful apothecary. He would leave it at one for now and see how much he could recover from it. His magic responded sluggishly when he reached for it, and he decided to play it safe to avoid having to rely on it before he recovered properly.

Following the road was simple enough, even at the five yards that Twisted Fate kept between himself and its edge in order to stay out of sight. His body pained him greatly despite having taken a health potion, and he stopped often to rest and stretch his muscles. The potion had reduced the most severe bruising from what he could see when he looked at his arms. It was a relief since the nastier bruises had been worrying him.

Around noon Twisted Fate found a creek with water flowing in its bed. It was low since it was the height of summer at the moment, but the water came from the mountains and was still cool and clear. The sloped wall surrounding the creek was easy enough to navigate even with aching feet, and once down Twisted Fate seated himself on a large bolder and dipped his feet into the gurgling waters while he ate a lunch of dried beef and cheese.

As he ate, his thoughts drifted back to the ordeal he had experienced just that morning, and he wondered why the three golems had not simply charged him rather than approaching him so cautiously. It occurred to him that they may have been trying to avoid causing him unnecessary harm, but the thought puzzled him. He hadn't expected the League to be gentle in trying to capture him, and he always assumed that the dark mage simply wanted him dead. They were the only two organizations he could think of that would employ such creations. The fact that one of the constructs had opted for snagging his clothing rather than clamping its powerful jaws onto his leg also hinted at their less-than-deadly intent.

Twisted Fate finished the last of his lunch and rinsed his hands in the creek. He scooted back on the bolder and pulled his feet from the water, rubbing them dry with a towel from his bag before slipping into a pair of dark brown travel boots. The coolness of the water helped his feet to feel better, but they still ached whenever he walked. He climbed back out of the creek and continued on his way.

Judging by the growing slope in the landscape, Twisted Fate still had a ways to go before he got into the Ironspike Mountains themselves. It would be a long trek by foot just to get to Steelgate Pass, and then he would have to find a way around the main exit in order to avoid the border guard that was stationed there year-round. Hopefully his magic would be settled enough by then to simply skip past the guards once he got there.

Several groups on horseback passed on the road and a zeppelin droned overhead on its way to Piltover, but Twisted Fate managed to stay hidden as he climbed toward the pass. The higher elevation was starting to effect him by the time he stopped for the night. He was halfway to the pass now, and it would take at least two more days to get past the border.

* * *

Caitlyn dropped into her chair with a long sigh. The Piltovan government was taking no chances with her captivity, as if they had known she would try to escape. Security was so tight that it would take help from the outside just to get near her front door without alerting the guards.

The former sheriff of Piltover brooded quietly on what she could try next when a guard entered her study. She looked up in surprise when she saw him, and raised an eyebrow when she spotted the elderly gentleman who followed him. Caitlyn waited impatiently as the guard tipped his hat to the gentleman and stepped outside the study, closing the door behind himself.

"To whom do I owe the pleasure?" Caitlyn asked politely. She got to her feet as the man approached her desk, offering a hand for him to shake in greeting.

The man bowed over Caitlyn's outstretched hand rather than shaking it. He wore a simple dark gray suit with a red tie, and possessed a head full of white hair despite his old age. "I am Alton Wesson, caretaker of Aravon estate," he said in a soft, slightly gravely voice. "I have come to help you."

"Really?" Caitlyn withdrew her hand, her voice full of doubt. "And how will you manage that?"

"You truly believe that Twisted Fate is innocent of the crimes he stands accused of?"

The question caught Caitlyn off-guard. So far no one had bothered to listen to her reasons for believing in Twisted Fate's innocence and had merely assumed that she'd been blackmailed or bewitched into keeping his crimes a secret. "Of course I do. I wrote everything I learned about him in the file myself, but someone stole it from the archives and changed it before sending it to the press."

Wesson nodded, satisfied with her answer. "I had hoped so." He suddenly pulled his timekeeper out of a vest pocket and noted the hour. "Time is short. Be ready at midnight in three days' time. I will explain everything then." The elderly gentleman bowed to Caitlyn in farewell and left before she could question him further, nodding to the guard as he opened the study door.

* * *

As expected, Steelgate Pass was well-guarded and possessed even more men than usual. Twisted Fate watched the guards from the safety of a nearby thicket and weighed his options. His magic responded promptly when he tugged at it, but it was still weaker than usual. If he used Gate to skip over the pass, he likely wouldn't have the magical power necessary to use it again for the next few days. He let out a grumbling sigh and wished—not for the first time—that he hadn't agreed to the magic drawing at the university just a few days prior. They had offered to analyze his magic and tell him where he could effectively expand his power, so of course he'd jumped at the chance since he hadn't thought he would need it for several days at least. If he had been at full power he could have easily skipped over Steelgate Pass all the way from Piltover instead of having to stop at the hideaway where he was jumped by the three golems.

Twisted Fate backed out of the thicket and walked south, away from the pass. Once he was well out of sight of the guards, he began preparing Gate. Illusory cards in a shade of bright emerald green flashed around him as the Gate reached completion, a sure sign that it was unfettered and working properly this time. Twisted Fate took a step forward and was instantly transported to the other side of the Ironspike Mountains.

"Well, how _fortunate_."

That was the problem with a blind teleport. You could get the spell to put you down on solid ground, but there was no guarantee that there wouldn't be something unpleasant waiting for you on the other side. Twisted Fate rolled his eyes and mentally kicked himself, making a note to keep his Gate from being so flashy from then on as he looked around at the group of Freljord barbarians that currently surrounded him. The Gate had managed to put him down right smack in the middle of Tryndamere's camp. He spotted Tryndamere directly in front of him, polished armor blazing in the mid-afternoon sun.

"Hah. So what'll it be, Tryndamere? A duel or a twenty-to-one fight?" Twisted Fate said nonchalantly, pulling his hat a bit lower over his eyes.

"They're for when you try to run," Tryndamere growled, gesturing at his men. The king of Freljord was tense, but he grinned with a bloody eagerness for battle that Twisted Fate had rarely seen before. "Draw your weapons, for what little good they'll do you."

Twisted Fate reached into a vest pocket and pulled out a single card, an eight of spades with an odd yellow sheen to it. He was in a real fix now, Gate was out of the question both because he would be stopped before it was fully cast and because he was too worn out to even use it again. If he could somehow break through the line of barbarians, he might be able to hide himself in the surrounding forest and lose Tryndamere there. The playing card's yellow sheen became a glow as Twisted Fate infused it with magic.

Tryndamere brought his blade up and rocked slightly in his stance, then surged forward in a blur of flesh and armor.

The card flashed brilliant gold as it struck Tryndamere's armored shoulder and shattered, but the barbarian kept coming. There was barely enough time for Twisted Fate to stumble to his right before Tryndamere was on him, laying him out flat with a single sweep of his arm. He rolled away from Tryndamere and jumped to his feet, bruised ribs throbbing from the strike.

"I thought you'd be more fun than this," Tryndamere said, his barking laugh taunting Twisted Fate's weakness. "What's the matter? You didn't expect me to have enchanted armor?"

Twisted Fate tried not to rise to the bait; saying something to get Tryndamere truly angry would only make the barbarian more difficult to deal with. He took a red-tinted card in his right hand and a bundle of cards in his left as an unpleasant thought occurred to him. Tryndamere was restraining himself in this fight, trying to avoid dicing Twisted Fate up despite his obvious eagerness to hurt him. If Twisted Fate lost this fight he would be dragged back to the League in chains to eventually die at their hands, just as the cards had told him.

Seeing that Twisted Fate had drawn more cards, Tryndamere mockingly dropped into a wider stance and prepared to charge. He was on the move even as Twisted Fate's arm whipped out to throw the cards, blade slicing through the air in wide arcs as he attacked them. The blade's Magic Breaker enchantments made quick work of Fate's cards, diffusing their magic and rendering them completely useless as they fell in shimmering pieces around him.

Tryndamere's blade rose again as he came within swinging distance of Twisted Fate. He noted with some disappointment that the Card Master was unusually sluggish today, but there was no reason to go completely easy on him. With a deceptively delicate flick of his blade, Tryndamere traced a bloody line across Twisted Fate's chest, running from his left collar bone to right hip.

The Card Master leaped back as Tryndamere finished the cut, glancing down at his bloodied shirt and vest before looking up at Tryndamere again. It seemed Tryndamere was aware of his weakened state and was still intent on drawing out the fight despite that. The barbarians would grab him the moment he tried to set foot outside their ring, unless he forced a few of them to move. He switched tactics. "Do you enjoy fighting someone who can't keep up? Or is it that you can't handle anyone who actually can?"

"Now you start talking. Are you angry that I ruined your clothes? There really wasn't much left to do to achieve that," Tryndamere replied, after a brief moment of heightened interest in his opponent. "I won't lie. I _am_ enjoying this, but not because you're weak," he flipped his blade, so he could swing at Fate with the flat. "You're no better than the Noxian scum who slaughtered my family, and worse because you slew your own flesh and blood for power. And look at where it's brought you now!" Tryndamere punctuated his verbal jab with a swing of his blade, catching Twisted Fate on the left shoulder blade with a loud smack as the Card Master tried to avoid it. "I will make sure that you pay for your crimes," he added, straightening as Twisted Fate dashed away from him.

Twisted Fate ran to the other side of the ring, putting the mountain range at his back. His entire body shook, not from fear or pain, but from pure barely-contained anger. In his flight from Piltover he'd managed to partially forget what little he'd read in the paper the morning the news broke—he'd lacked the courage to read the whole thing.

A red-tinted card whistled as he hurled it to the ground with enough force to leave it sticking edge-up out of the loam. "My crimes?" he snarled, raising his head to look Tryndamere in the eye. "If being too weak to protect my family is a crime, then you're just as guilty as I am, Tryndamere."

"How _dare_ you compare yourself to me," Tryndamere snapped, taking his sword in both hands as he prepared to charge Twisted Fate again. "Don't bother trying to surrender. You're in this fight until my blade or that wound drops you, whichever comes first." Tryndamere surged forward, kicking up a spray of dirt and pine needles as he charged his enemy.

The card that Twisted Fate had stuck in the loam just a few moments before flashed to life, wrapping glowing red tendrils of magic around Tryndamere's legs as he stepped on it. Tryndamere pulled against the magic's effects even as his armor's enchantments began to break it up, regaining momentum as he neared Twisted Fate. The magic released him suddenly, sooner than he had anticipated. Tryndamere realized what Twisted Fate was planning as he careened toward the Card Master and the line of barbarians behind him.

Twisted Fate sidestepped at just the right moment, smirking as Tryndamere rushed past.

The two barbarians who had been standing behind Twisted Fate were forced to jump to either side in order to avoid Tryndamere, leaving a large gap in the circle.

With the way opened, Twisted Fate vaulted over Tryndamere and dashed toward the dense forest of the Ironspike Mountains.

"Stop him!" Tryndamere thundered as he leaped to his feet.

The barbarians were on the move instantly, raising blades and bows that they had held ready throughout the fight. An arrow whizzed past and struck a tree trunk just to Twisted Fate's right as he entered the cover of the trees.

The cut that ran along his chest burned fiercely as he ran, almost drowning out the pain of his other injuries, but Twisted Fate forced himself to keep going. He'd spotted horses in their camp just after his arrival, and he had to get to terrain that the animals couldn't cross before Tryndamere and his men caught up with him.

Angry shouts and curses echoed through the mountain forest as Twisted Fate wove through the trees, pausing only long enough to take a potion for his wound. He winced as the shallow cut closed itself, leaving a nasty ache behind. Running would be easier now, and he wouldn't be leaving a blood trail for Tryndamere to follow now that it was closed.

A few more minutes' running brought him to a near-sheer cliff about twenty feet high that ran several hundred feet to either side, a perfect obstacle to keep Tryndamere from following him on horseback. Twisted Fate cast a glance behind him toward the clamor of the hunting barbarians and began to climb. Hand holds were easy to find, as the cliff was overgrown with wines and determined trees, and soon Twisted Fate had reached the halfway point. His bruised shoulder and ribs ached fiercely as he used the muscles to pull himself up and navigate the climb, but he pushed them out of his thoughts and continued on until he reached the top.

The small forested plateau above the cliff was a welcome sight. Twisted Fate stumbled away from the cliff and collapsed to catch his breath. The barbarians and their horses had reached the ground below him now, and Twisted Fate listened to Tryndamere barking orders for a few moments before forcing himself to rise and carry on. He was able to reach the cover of a stand of rugged shrubs by the time Tryndamere scaled the cliff himself.

Large gray slabs of rock lay strewn throughout the trees, creating temporary breaks in the forest as the foliage grew around and sought to break them apart with its roots. A few minutes' running brought Twisted Fate to a wide river that cut through the landscape as it made its way down the mountain. Loose pebbles that made up the riverbank scattered in all directions as Twisted Fate slid to a halt. The river would provide a perfect way to lose Tryndamere for good.

Twisted Fate waded into the river's chilling water and started walking with the current, keeping near the shore on the opposite side to avoid leaving tracks. The steady rumble of the waters was the only thing he could hear, completely drowning out the distant shouts of Tryndamere and his men. He traveled this way until the river took him out of sight from where he had entered it, then climbed up onto the bank and continued to follow it from the cover of the forest. The soggy clothes and lingering chill from the river slowed Twisted Fate's progress, but he was relieved to not have to deal with Tryndamere for a few days at least.

* * *

Tryndamere and his men lost Twisted Fate's trail several times in the forest, and it went completely cold once they reached the river. He waded through its waters to check the woods on the other side, in case Twisted Fate had gone that way himself. There was no trace of the Card Master in the woods beyond the river, but something else caught Tryndamere's attention.

Massive claw marks marred the mossy loam of the forest floor, their length and depth giving testament to the size of the creature that had made them. Judging by the size of the prints, Tryndamere guessed that the beasts that made them were over eight feet tall and very heavy. It was the first proof he'd actually seen of the strange creatures that had been moving around the borders of Freljord. They were unlike any prints he'd seen before, with too much claw to be made by a bear or wolf. Dragons were doubtful as well since their rough scales and spines would have left marks in the tree trunks as well, and it appeared that such had not happened to these trees.

Something big moved through the trees nearby, showering Tryndamere with torrent of dead sticks and old leaves. Tryndamere leaped to his feet and drew his sword, fixing his eyes on the patch of tall shrubs that hid whatever it was from view. The movement ceased and a minute dragged by in silence, each moment seeming like an eternity as Tryndamere waited for whatever it was to emerge.

The bushes exploded as a massive gray construct burst through them, sharp teeth bared as it charged Tryndamere. It was bulky, with a large vaguely bear-like head and thick tail for balance. Runes were visible all over its body, which was also covered in long spines.

Tryndamere leaped backward, landing nimbly on a large tree root as he analyzed his enemy. The spines would make it difficult to land a hit without being hurt himself, he'd have to cut them off before he could get at the construct's body.

With a silent roar the construct took a swipe at Tryndamere with its claws. Tryndamere parried the blow, the sheer physical power behind the golem's strike making him stagger slightly before he ducked behind the tree. The construct might have strength on its side, but its bulk would make it difficult to maneuver in dense forest like this.

"King Tryndamere!" One of Tryndamere's men had crossed the river to see what all the commotion was, and Tryndamere could see several more barbarians climbing out of the water behind him. They were all directly in the construct's sights.

"Get out of here!" Tryndamere bellowed as the construct charged the hapless barbarian.

The border guard stumbled backward, caught between the charging golem and the river, then dashed upstream.

Tryndamere sprinted after it to defend the guard, and was forced to jump back when the construct turned on him again. The construct lumbered to the right, keeping Tryndamere in its sights as it cut him off from the forest. It had succeeded in luring Tryndamere into territory where it had the advantage.

This surprised Tryndamere. He hadn't expected it to be capable of complex instructions, let alone battle strategy. With the river at his back and the construct standing squarely between himself and the forest, he had no choice but to fight it in the open where it would have the advantage.

The construct surged forward, claws extended and mouth gaping as it tried to pin Tryndamere with its front paws.

Tryndamere leaped to his right as a spray of small pebbles from the construct's blow pelted him and charged its left shoulder. Even slicing off a few of the spines would make the construct less dangerous. With a flash of his blade, Tryndamere severed a cluster of spines and evaded the construct as it swung at him again.

An arrow whizzed over Tryndamere's head and bounced off the construct's neck without even scratching its hide. More followed, but they were just as ineffective as the first, and soon the ground beneath the golem's feet was littered with broken arrows. The construct ignored Tryndamere's men; they weren't a threat as the Barbarian King himself was. It lunged in again, this time keeping its paws wide in an attempt to hem Tryndamere in before pinning him to the ground.

Again Tryndamere dodged the blow, this time dashing to his left and aiming his attack at the construct's other shoulder.

It was already whirling to face him as he left the ground in a leap, and he was unable to avoid its attack while in midair. The construct's paw hit him square in the chest, slamming him to the ground with enough force to make him slide backwards through the loose rocks until he hit the water.

Tryndamere coughed and rolled to his side as the construct's paw slammed into the shallows where he had been only moments before, throwing up a huge spray of water. So it was not only able to use strategy and single out the highest-threat target, it could also learn from its mistakes and compensate the next time the enemy attacked. He took a deep breath, filling his lungs with air again, and got to his feet. It felt like a few of his ribs had been bruised from the construct's blow, maybe even cracked in a few places. Tryndamere got himself back out of the water and waited for the construct's next attack. A throwing ax ricocheted off the construct's head almost hit Tryndamere in the face, forcing him to raise his blade to knock it away.

The construct took full advantage of Tryndamere's momentary distraction and surged in, throwing its entire body at him.

Instead of trying to get out from under the construct, Tryndamere chose to do the unexpected. He planted his feet on the riverbank and impaled the construct on his blade as it came down on him. Spines on the construct's chest sliced up Tryndamere's arms, but the damage he'd been able to cause in return was considerable. He may have even hit the construct's energy core, in which case it would be weakening constantly if it continued to fight him.

Magical discharge shimmered over Tryndamere's blade as the construct pulled back, energy leaking from the damaged area as it retreated. It crouched for a few moments, calculating its chances of success with the damage it had taken. The construct whirled and dashed back into the forest, scattering small pebbles in all directions as it left the riverbank.

Tryndamere only lowered his sword once the sound of the construct's massive paws faded completely into the forest. He raised a hand to his chest, touching the bruise that now colored it. The gashes caused by the construct's spines stung fiercely, oozing blood as he moved. If all the big creatures were like that construct, it would be bad news for Freljord and any other city-state territory they'd infiltrated. Just one was a hand full, and Freljord's government had received reports of _dozens_ of such monsters entering the territory through their borders. Tryndamere would have blamed Noxus for the constructs, save for the fact that they were coming in through the border that Freljord shared with Demacia's territories as well. Hopefully the League would have answers.

"So that's what we're up against?" One of the border guards had come to stand next to Tryndamere, massive longbow still held in his hands. The man was young, with dirty blonde hair and a thin beard. This had probably been the first dose of major action he'd ever had while on border patrol. "Have you seen anything like it before?"

"Not exactly," Tryndamere replied, turning to wade to the other side of the river. "Come, we have to get word of this to Ashe and the League."

"What about Twisted Fate?" the border guard asked. He hesitated on the bank, waiting for Tryndamere's answer as he scanned the trees for danger.

"My people's safety is more important than that rat," Tryndamere replied, suddenly tired. He would have to send word to Ashe from the nearest border outpost. Hopefully her hawk was resting there after delivering her letter, it would be faster than any ground messenger he could send.

"Do you think it was trying to protect him?" the guard followed him across the river, struggling slightly against the current where Tryndamere still held strong.

"Even if that's what it was trying to do we still need to fall back. That thing may very well be summoning reinforcements even as we speak, and I can't hold off more than two." Tryndamere's frown deepened; it had been a long while since anything outside the League had been able to strain him like this.

The guard started to wade faster, drawing closer to Tryndamere. He didn't want to face any more constructs either, and the thought of having to fight a group of them was an unpleasant one.

Someone handed Tryndamere a potion as he emerged from the river. It took care of the worst of his cuts, sealing them up and leaving a sharp stinging sensation behind. He'd have to check in with a healer at the outpost as well so he could get back to Ashe as quickly as possible. "You may have won this round, Twisted Fate," he grumbled. "But next time you won't be so lucky."


	3. Chapter 3: Respite

**Chapter 3: Respite**

The sun had just touched the crest of the Ironspike peaks when Twisted Fate decided to call it a night. His legs shook with exhaustion as he paused beneath a large pine to catch his breath. There was no way in hell he'd be sleeping on the ground tonight, he wouldn't be awake in time to defend himself if something found him in this state.

Twisted Fate glanced up at the tree he was standing next to. It was of a respectable size, large enough at its base that over five people would be needed to encircle its girth with their arms. Branches thrust outward in rough rings along its trunk, the lowest starting at about six feet above Twisted Fate's head. The citizens of Freljord called them sentinel pines due to their handiness as sentry towers, provided you could get up into their branches, of course.

If he could just get halfway up the pine, the branches would be close enough together at the trunk to provide a place to lay without much risk of falling out of the tree. Foliage from the tree's neighbors would be enough to obscure him from sight at that height as well. Twisted Fate examined the lowest ring, going over ways to get to it in his head. Jumping was out of the question, the branches were much too high for that. Teleportation was a big no as well since he'd never tried it at short range going straight up and was too tired to concentrate properly anyway. A rope to pull himself up would be his best bet, provided he was still strong enough to lift himself.

Twisted Fate retrieved a length of rope from his bag and a metal hook to tie to its end. Tiredness made it hard to focus on the knot, but he finally managed to tie it off. The hook felt like a lead weight in his hand as he backed off to get a better shot at the branch.

The first throw bounced off the bottom of the lowest branch with a metallic _clink_ and fell back to the forest floor. Twisted Fate sighed and picked it up for another try, doing his best to aim better this time. After a brief spin, he hurled the hook with enough force to get it to wrap around the lowest branch several times before burying its tip in the wood.

A few hard tugs confirmed that the rope would hold, digging the hook even deeper into the branch. Twisted Fate wrapped the rope around his right forearm to get a better grip, braced his legs against the rough bark of the trunk, and made his way up. Once he reached the lowest branch, he grabbed it with his left hand and began to pull himself up.

Tiredness made him bang his left shin on a neighboring branch as he lifted his legs up, but at least the hardest part was over. Now that he was in the tree it would be an easier climb, since the next ring of branches up was within reach. Twisted Fate worked at the hook, rocking it from side to side until he was finally able to pull it free. With the most obvious evidence of his climb coiled and stored away, Twisted Fate made his way farther up the tree, putting five more levels of branches between himself and the ground before he stopped.

Sentinel pines certainly had their uses. The tree's sap was incredibly sticky and covered his hands by the time he finished the climb, but Twisted Fate would be well hidden from anything passing by on the ground if he stayed here. He lashed his bedroll to the branches, his hands now clumsily from exhaustion. The sun had set beyond the Ironspike Mountains by the time he finished. After eating a cold dinner, Twisted Fate did his best to curl up in the uncomfortable roost and fell asleep.

The nigh life rose to go about their business as darkness shrouded the forest. Around midnight the creatures were interrupted by the sound of a large creature treading as carefully as it could through their domain. A construct with a vaguely reptilian shape and hard spikes moved through the trees, intent on reaching the mountains beyond.

* * *

"So do you think we'll see any more of those golem things?"

One of the older guards, a man in his forties with slight silver streaks in his mane of dark brown hair, eyed his younger comrade with annoyance. The blonde-haired barbarian had not stopped chattering since they got back to the safety of the outpost, and his constant talk had grown very irritating. The older guard was about to leave when he noticed an abnormally dark shadow near the barracks window.

"Good evening, boys," Vayne's voice was smooth and casual as she stepped forward, startling the guards who had not noticed her.

"How long have _you_ been there?" the chatty young barbarian spluttered, his eyes practically popping out of his head with surprise.

Vayne shrugged; the question wasn't important enough to answer. "I was wondering if you could give me some information on Twisted Fate, and the construct you encountered today," she said, giving them a faint smile. Shauna Vayne was gifted with a lovely body, beautiful face, and smooth raven hair, but she was not a woman that men ever considered forging a relationship with. Some might hold secret fantasies about taming her formidable will and incredible strength, but the truth was that no man was worthy of a woman like Vayne. She was a cold, dangerous beauty that most men regarded as untouchable and few ever dared to approach.

Though they definitely appreciated a beautiful body like Vayne's, the barbarians were far more impressed with her combat abilities and the foes that she had defeated during her travels. Warrior women were not at all unheard of in Freljord, and it was easy to respect a skilled hunter like Vayne. Once they had overcome their initial surprise at suddenly discovering that she was in their midst, the guards were eager to share their observations with her.

Vayne jotted everything down in a small notebook, from the bruising noticed on Twisted Fate's exposed skin when he appeared in the barbarian camp to the number of quills counted on the golem's back. "Thank you. Your observations have been most insightful," she said finally, tucking her notebook and pen away in a belt pouch. Vayne had almost reached the window when the blonde barbarian spoke up again.

"Miss Vayne, could you tell us of one of your adventures before you go?"

"Adventures?" Vayne's voice carried a hint of disdain as she said the word, and eyes became hard and focused as she turned her gaze on the young barbarian. "I may draw satisfaction from my work, but it is quite unlike the flippant joy experienced while indulging in the spirit of exploration," she continued to stare down at him, then softened slightly when his face took on an apologetic expression. "My life is not one I would wish on anyone else. Let's leave it at that." Vayne darted out the window without another word.

The barbarians crowded around the window, trying to catch a glimpse of Vayne as she left the outpost. A dark shadow streaked across the moonlit grounds and scaled the outer wall with no difficulty, disappearing from their sight as it dropped over the other side.

* * *

"Have you seen their like anywhere else?" Akali paced around the broken construct, her feet barely making a sound in the leaves of the forest floor. They had encountered two of the constructs while on their way to Freljord from Piltover, cat-like golems with long wicked claws and scythe-like fangs. The golems had put up a good fight despite being outnumbered, and had even managed to slash each of the ninjas at least once before going down.

Shen had taken the most damage of the three in defending them from the constructs' attacks. Despite the slashes that crossed his torso and arms, Shen stood tall as he examined the two carcasses and appeared completely unfazed by the pain from his wounds. "No, I have not," he said finally, crossing his arms over his muscular chest.

"Who do you think made them?" Kennen leaped lightly from the ground to perch on the flank of one of the constructs, then crouched to examine one of its runes more closely. He scratched at its hide with the point of one of his shuriken and found that it had the consistency of hard stone even after its core had stopped powering the enchantments that covered its body.

The Eye of Twilight remained silent, instead striding over to the underbelly of the construct that Kennen was perched upon and kneeling to examine the damage he'd done to it. Shen had managed to slip beneath the construct's defenses and strike at the energy core that powered it. The blow had been difficult due to the thickness of the armor around the core and had cost him a few deep gashes in his back and legs, but in the end the attack had been successful and had allowed Akali and Kennen to clean up the last golem without much difficulty.

Shen was peering into the now-dark cavity when he felt something brush one of the gashes his right arm. He looked up to find Akali at his elbow. She plucked at the fabric around the cut and gave him a stern look from behind her mask, unhappy that he had not seen to himself yet. Shen sat back and began to remove his gear while Akali retrieved a medical kit that was hidden within the folds of her uniform.

Magic gave the kit storage space far beyond what its small size suggested, and soon Akali had provided Shen with a potion and began cleaning the cuts on his arms once he had taken it. Kennen hopped down from the golem's flank and began to help as well, bandaging and cleaning the injuries on Shen's left arm before tending to his own small cuts. Raw speed had allowed him to remain out of the constructs' reach for the most part, but they had still caught him a few times during their battle. Akali had acquired a few shallow cuts as well, and she saw to these once Shen was no longer bleeding.

The trio decided to keep their damaged uniforms on for now. Despite the rips and tears from their battle, the concealment and stealth enchantments on the garments were still functional and would serve them until they reached one of the many Kinkou sanctuaries hidden throughout the Valoran mainland. Reaching a sanctuary would also allow Shen to speak with the order's high council back on Ionia, and he was eager to ask that they search the Kinkou archives for information on the possible makers of the golems he and the others had just fought.

Shen was about to resume his inspection of the construct when something flickered within the gash that had felled the massive golem. He leaped to his feet and readied his blades as the two constructs began shifting, as if there were something alive within their skins. In a cloud of foul-smelling gray smoke, the two constructs abruptly degraded, melting and withering until their skeletal structures and crystalline cores were exposed. Once fully visible, the two cores cracked and split in an explosion of fragments. An unearthly shriek filled the forest as two globes of light rose from the broken cores and shot into the sky, vanishing from sight as they sped away through the jeweled black velvet of the night sky. With the cores now fully depleted, the skeletons of the golems collapsed into a fine dust and mixed with the remains of their other parts.

The triumvirate stood stock-still as they stared down at the fading remains of the two constructs, the unnerving chill of horror hanging over each of them. Kennen swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry, and tucked the shuriken that he held tightly in his fingers away. Akali removed her left hand from Shen's shoulder and lowered the kama she held in the other. Shen sheathed his ninjato and flexed the shoulder Akali had put her hand on—her fingers had been gripped tightly enough to leave bruises.

"They're powered by souls," Akali said, her voice filled with quiet horror as she stepped forward and sifted through the debris with the point of her kama.

Shen didn't reply. Now the startling intelligence of the constructs made sense. They were powered by a forbidden magic that imprisoned and manipulated souls, and from the reports that the Kinkou intelligence network had picked up from other city-state territories, there were hordes of them moving throughout the lands of Valoran. The maker of these golems was a power that could shatter the fragile balance that the Kinkou had sworn to protect.

"Let's get to one of the sanctuaries," Shen said quietly. "We must contact the high council as well as the League."

"Right," Kennen's voice was husky, as the dryness had spread to his throat while he stared at the remains of the two constructs. The yordle coughed as quietly as possible and fell in next to Shen.

Akali put her kama away and turned her back on the two piles of dust and mud. Soon, the remains of the two golems would be indistinguishable from the soil surrounding them, a perfect way to keep their maker's secrets from falling into the hands of his enemies. She joined Shen and Kennen, and soon the three of them were racing through the trees and underbrush of the forest.

"Is this a coincidence, Shen?" Akali asked as the trio scaled a tree with ease and continued through the forest canopy for a few moments before returning to the ground. "These golems turn up just after Twisted Fate is declared a traitor and collaborator of the that animaturge, and we know he must have been the one who made them."

Shen knew what Akali was getting at. Animaturgy was a magic that the Kinkou opposed due to the user's ability to gain power indefinitely as long as they assimilated the souls and bodies of other sentient beings, allowing them to grow out of control and eventually destroy the balance of power in Valoran if left unchecked. The League and Kinkou had coordinated in destroying all information on animaturgy save for a few essential volumes on fighting it, all of which were stored in the highest-security areas of the League's archives and the Kinkou's secret library. Through the years one particularly troublesome animaturge had managed to survive the culling and carry on his practice despite all attempts to capture and kill him. He had been quiet in recent years, but the golems were certainly his doing; there were no other magical disciplines that could bind souls to constructs so easily and with such power.

"It is certainly a possibility," Shen replied. "We will see to capturing him once we have gotten word of the golems to the council."

Kennen slowed, falling back to where the other two were after briefly racing ahead. "Are we taking him to the order, or the League once we get him?"

"The order first," Shen replied, loping nimbly around a large bush with Kennen and rejoining Akali on the other side. "They will be able to extract the necessary information from him. His answers will determine whether or not he lives after that."

* * *

Twisted Fate woke as the mid morning sun shone on his face. He winced and sat up, stiff joints clicking and tight muscles twinging with pain. After a brief and uncomfortable stretching session, Twisted Fate packed up his bedroll and made his way down the tree trunk. He managed to get down without slipping once, then tripped over one of the tree's massive roots and landed on a couple of spiky pine cones. Twisted Fate growled with annoyance as he got to his feet and gave one of the pine cones a good kick. It bounced off a nearby tree trunk and flew back at him, forcing him to duck in order to avoid being hit in the face.

The reverse luck had definitely taken effect. Whenever Twisted Fate was forced to rely on a large stroke of luck in order to survive death or serious injury, he would always suffer from misfortune for at least a week afterward, without fail. Such weeks were best spent laying low and taking no chances, a luxury that Twisted Fate couldn't quite afford at the moment. He hoped there was a town nearby, he needed to get to a place where he could rest up in safety before continuing on to the Great Barrier.

Twisted Fate looked down at himself. A change of clothes was definitely in order, since his shirt and vest were ruined beyond repair and caked with dried blood. His jeans had only fared better because Tryndamere hadn't attacked his legs, but the blood on them would raise too many questions if he ran into someone on the road. Twisted Fate picked out a dark green shirt and new jeans from his bag and changed into them, stowing his ruined clothes in his bag to dispose of later.

With his wardrobe taken care of, Twisted Fate walked to the river and cleaned his face before ducking behind a clump of bushes. The mask always felt better if your face was relatively clean when you put it on. He seated himself on a large tree root and retrieved the mask from his bag, feeling grateful that he'd decided to buy the best model available, despite how expensive it had been. This mask was high-quality in that it was almost indistinguishable from the real thing once it was put on the wearer's face. Magic gave it incredible life-like quality and kept the wearer's face cool to prevent sweating, a feature that helped keep the mask comfortable and secured firmly to the face. The skin tone could also be adjusted before the mask was worn and realistic facial hair applied, giving the user a wide variety of faces to wear.

After a few moments of contemplation, Twisted Fate retrieved a light brown handlebar mustache and a short-haired wig of the same pale brown shade from his bag to use in the disguise. The mask accepted the mustache and held onto it even when Twisted Fate gave it a hard tug; its magic would keep it there until he removed the mask. Next Twisted Fate pinned up his long black hair, the very action reminding him of how Graves had always been nagging him to get it cut back when they were still partners. He wondered what Graves was up to now, and how close the Outlaw might be to discovering where he was. Twisted Fate sighed through his nose and shoved the thought of Graves out of his head. He would handle Graves when he turned up, no use worrying over it when there was nothing that could be done.

The mask was still a bit more pale than he wanted, too similar to his own natural skin tone. Twisted Fate pressed a finger to the inside of the mask and drew it downward, causing its skin to darken to a light tan. With the desired adjustments finished, Twisted Fate put the mask on, pressing it to his nose first and moving outward. It fit like a second skin and molded to his face as the sealing magic activated. He secured the wig next, then rubbed the appropriate shade of toner on his hands, arms, ears, and neck, using a small mirror from his bag to ensure that he covered every bit of exposed skin. A dark green fedora in a style only slightly out of fashion in Piltover finished the look.

Twisted Fate was now completely unrecognizable to the average civilian and most champions—only those who could sense and identify his particular magic would be able to recognize him with this disguise. He was about to set out when he noticed that he was still wearing the same boots. It was better to take no chances, just in case Tryndamere or one of the guards who had seen him the other day turned up. He tugged on a pair of black boots and tucked the brown pair in his bag.

A sense of relief swept over Twisted Fate as he returned to the river and began to follow it again. Knowing that no one would be able to recognize him on sight was wonderful, definitely an improvement from avoiding all contact and worrying that someone might catch him at any moment. Twisted Fate even managed a little spring in his step as he walked along the riverbank.

The first summoning attempt came around noon, as Twisted Fate was entering the western foothills of the Ironspike Mountains. Anger rolled off the summoner's consciousness like thick fog, making Twisted Fate flinch as it brushed up against his own mind. With a mental flick, he swatted the summoner away like an annoying fly and continued on. As long as he didn't allow the summoners to establish a mental connection, they wouldn't be able to summon him or determine his exact location.

Soon other summoners began attempting their own links, most of them radiating anger or simple curiosity. A few rare cases even gave off a feeling of sadness as they tried to establish the link, and Twisted Fate figured they must've been the ones who had at least partially liked him as a person before news broke on the massacre. The powerful emotion flying at him wore Twisted Fate out more quickly than usual, and the constant link attempts made it feel like there was a swarm of angry invisible bees flying around his head.

The attempts died down by early evening as the summoners gave up and moved on to other matters that required their attention. It was a relief, since Twisted Fate would need to put on a good act in order to walk into town without drawing suspicion. He could see it in the distance now, next to the river he was following, a good-sized town with sturdy buildings and a few shallow-bottomed boats pulled up on the shore. It was definitely big enough to have an inn, which meant he could look forward to a bath and a hot meal as well as a comfortable bed.

No one paid much attention to the lone traveler strolling into town, they were used to getting the occasional wanderer from Piltover and this one seemed no different. Twisted Fate got himself a room at the local inn and ordered a large dinner to be brought up to his room. Once the tray had arrived and the serving maid had gone back down to the ground floor, Twisted Fate locked the door and removed his mask with a sigh of relief. Quality mask or no, it was still uncomfortable to wear for long periods of time and he was glad to be out of it.

The dinner and bath were superb after days spent in the wilderness. Twisted Fate had forgotten what a luxury such things were while enjoying the security and steady pay provided by the League. He had truly taken such things for granted.

One final summon attempt arrived as Twisted Fate was climbing into bed. The summoner gave off an apologetic feeling, as if she were sorry to disturb him at such a late hour. The attitude was certainly different, but Twisted Fate swatted her away regardless. No exceptions, no matter how harmless the summoner might appear.

Many miles away, in the Institute of War main campus, a lone summoner flinched and set the focusing crystal on its pedestal. Long purple robes hung loosely on her thin frame, unadorned with special weave or oddly-colored hems, the mark of a summoner of normal status. She glanced around the chamber and made her way out after finding that it was still empty. The walk back to her station in the archives took her past the office of a senior summoner, who was currently being visited by a close friend.

The visitor shut the door more tightly as someone walked past, then returned to his seat before the senior summoner. He was an overweight, twitchy man, and his chair wobbled slightly as his leg bounced up and down with nervousness. "What'll we do, Quinton? It'll be death or life behind bars if the League finds out, and that's if Fate or his damn monster of a brother don't get to us first," he spoke with a light Piltovan accent, his voice wavering from the fear that held him its firm, icy grip.

His comrade didn't seem quite so alarmed. "Is that all you came here to talk about, Radford?" Quinton asked, sounding somewhat bored with the whole meeting. His own accent was much more pronounced than Radford's, a result of more time spent among Piltover's citizens. "While it _does_ appear that the two are collaborating, given the evidence, do you have any proof that either of them know of our hand in the murder?" He leaned back in his chair, throwing his lightly-muscled physique into sharper detail.

"Well, no... But you do know that Fanderboldt and the men he hired have all died or gone missing. One of them obviously knew enough to single them out," despite his objections, Radford was beginning to calm down. His leg stopped bouncing, though he still quivered slightly from nerves.

"Yes, but even if one of them is responsible for those mishaps, we never gave Fanderboldt or his men our identities. I never trusted that jealous fool with something so important. We are nameless mages to anyone questioning them." He stroked his full gray beard as he watched his companion. "What has you so jumpy all of a sudden? You weren't so hesitant when we did the deed years ago, and you were quite relieved when you heard that the massacre had taken place."

"That was before I knew there was an _animaturge_ involved. And to know that the two of them are Honavir's sons..." Radford dabbed at the sweat that had gathered on his forehead with one of his silver-cuffed sleeves.

Quinton sighed with annoyance and tossed Radford a handkerchief from his pocket. "You give Twisted Fate far too much credit. He is by far the weakest mage in the League, such is the price of not having been born with magic," he said with a dismissive shake of his head. "Though there is a way we could turn this in our favor. I'm sure that Twisted Fate would be of at least some value to his brother, despite his obvious weakness as a mage. Perhaps we could use him as bait should the League ever acquire him."

Radford nodded for Quinton to go on as he wiped his face with the handkerchief.

"Just think, if we eliminate the two of them we would be lauded as heroes and free of anyone who could expose us to the League. I should think a promotion would be in order for us at the very least should we succeed, on top of other benefits," Quinton retrieved an ornate pipe from one of his desk drawers and began packing it with tobacco. "We can just sit back and relax while the others track down Twisted Fate. It'll be impossible for most to ignore such a big reward as the one the League is offering for his capture, it is only a matter of time."

* * *

Caitlyn prepared for bed, doing her best to act as normally as possible. Tonight was the night that Alton had promised to get her out of the house and on the trail of whoever had broken into the House of Law's archives. She glanced at the grandfather clock in her living room as she sat down with a novel; ten twenty, only an hour and forty minutes until she was free.


	4. Chapter 4: Out and Away

**Chapter 4: Out and Away**

The guards hadn't noticed Caitlyn slip into a dark form-fitting suit of clothes before getting into bed. That was the advantage of the common decency the citizens of Piltover tried to uphold; her captors would never have observers on her changing room because of how rudely invasive it would be. Caitlyn tried to keep her excitement down as she waited for the minutes to tick by. It would be very soon now, just five minutes to go.

A part of Caitlyn still couldn't believe what she was about to do and tried to get her to reconsider accepting Alton's offer, but this was something she just couldn't leave alone. She had already invested too much in the case and in the victim to drop it now, and there was the matter of finding whoever had broken into the Archives and sullied her reputation as well. Her heart pounded as she waited for the clock to strike twelve, her body tense and aching to move.

Despite her readiness, the tolling of Piltover's central clock tower and her own grandfather clock still made Caitlyn jump when they rang through her home. Immediately after the final tone died away, Caitlyn heard the sounds of shouting outside—something had disturbed the guards. In a flurry of movement she threw the covers back and leaped from the bed, covering the distance between it and her bedroom door in little under a second. The hallway and stairs cost only a few moments and she was on the landing, listening and watching for the figures of the guards who might still be outside her home.

Guards still stood outside Caitlyn's front door, shifting uneasily on their feet and looking very agitated, but those at her kitchen window had run off to deal with whatever the disruption had been. Caitlyn unlocked the window with a quiet click and eased it open, allowing the first breath of fresh night air into her home. There was a small creak of the hinges as she pushed it completely open, and she paused as she waited for a guard to inspect the noise if they'd heard it. None came, and Caitlyn pulled herself easily onto the sill and dropped down to the ground beneath the window.

A distant clamor could still be heard in the direction most of the guards had run off in, and Caitlyn decided the best course of action would be to move in the opposite direction. She had just reached the corner of another side alley and taken cover in the shadows when she realized that her liberator had not told her what to do next. Caitlyn was planning her route to the Aravon Estate when someone tapped her on the shoulder.

The figure who had disturbed her jerked back as Caitlyn whirled on him, holding his hands up in a gesture of peace and leaning back on his heels. The cloak obscured most of his head, but Caitlyn caught a glimpse of bright blonde hair and the glint of goggles as he moved away. Combined with the slight figure, he could only be one person.

"Ezreal?" Caitlyn asked in a strained whisper, as she found it hard to believe that the Prodigal Explorer would care to get mixed up in this business. She squinted at him in the half-light, checking to see if she was mistaken.

Ezreal only held a finger to his lips and gave Caitlyn a quiet "shhh" in reply before gesturing for her to follow him. He then turned with a whirl of his cloak and made his way further down the alley they were hiding in.

Darkness closed around them as they walked farther away from the street lights, and Caitlyn began to find it difficult to navigate. After a few aggravated moments, she reached forward and found Ezreal's cloak in the darkness, keeping the folds of cloth in a firm grip to ensure that she wouldn't lose him.

However blind Caitlyn may have been, the lack of light didn't seem to bother Ezreal. He made his way forward as confidently as if the alley was lit by floodlights, and Caitlyn could feel sure that he wouldn't lead her into any walls at least. Ezreal paused, causing Caitlyn to almost run into him, and turned to where she figured one of the walls must be. The creak of dry hinges told her that he had opened something, most likely a pair of cellar doors. This time Ezreal took her by the hand and led her down a set of steps before returning to the entrance to shut the doors. Now safe from any who might spot them, Ezreal conjured a small globe of light with his glove and tossed it into the air above his head.

Caitlyn blinked as her eyes became used to the light again. They were in a fairly large wine cellar, from the look of the barrels stacked by the walls or resting on their sides in corners. She turned to Ezreal once she was finished examining the cellar, only to find that he was already making his way to its farthest corner. "Ezreal," Caitlyn said, her voice barely above a whisper.

"People can still hear us," Ezreal whispered, again gesturing for her to be quiet. He continued on to the farthest corner of the cellar, where the barrels were so large that they needed to be set on their sides to fit without touching the ceiling. Immediately he selected the second from the end and pulled its top off, revealing a set of stairs that descended into even deeper darkness. Ezreal turned again and gestured for her to follow, then started down the stairs himself, the conjured light still floating just above his head.

Caitlyn entered the secret passageway and pulled the hidden door shut behind her, then hurried down the stairs after Ezreal. They were in the Piltover Underground now, a sprawling network of chambers and tunnels that Ezreal himself had first mapped out in detail many years ago. It only made sense that he would know the network like the back of his hand. A damp chill hung in the air even during the height of summer, and Caitlyn shivered slightly as the cold set into her skin.

"We can talk now," Ezreal quipped as she reached him at the bottom of the stairs.

"What are you doing here?" Caitlyn blurted out the question that had been on her mind ever since Ezreal found her in the alley.

"Helping you escape, what else?" Ezreal replied with a shrug.

"But why? You actually believe me?"

"Well yeah, we're friends, right? I don't believe you could be duped or bewitched or anything so easily," Ezreal started walking down the tunnel as he spoke, and Caitlyn had no choice but to follow him to keep talking. "Alton's a good friend of mine, too, but I didn't need much convincing to begin with."

Caitlyn was about to tell Ezreal that she didn't think friendship was a good enough reason to disbelieve everyone else when he spoke up again.

"And I think everyone's using this as an excuse to hate on gypsies. I dunno why, it's not like they're even around Piltover anymore. I found stories that they used to be really vicious and all a long time ago, but I can't even tell if that's true since it could just be the bias again," Ezreal seemed to be partially musing aloud to himself as much as talking to Caitlyn, though as long as it got her answers she didn't particularly mind. "And then you get these rumors about the black magic they supposedly use, even though I can't find evidence of that, either... They get blamed for a lot, but I can't find enough proof that it was really them most of the time. I get that normal people are afraid of the unknown and all that, but you can only use that excuse up to a certain point." He glanced back at Caitlyn. "Am I still making sense?"

"Yes, actually," Caitlyn replied. "The previous Sheriff had quite the hatred for them, from what I've read in the Archives. I suppose the sentiment died down somewhat after the local gypsies were killed, but it's certainly back now."

"They don't even let me use my government funding to research their history. Even though we might discover more parts of our own earliest history through their records," Ezreal grumbled. He sighed; the quest for knowledge was always the greatest thrill for him, and one of his pet peeves was having to deal with people who tried to prevent him from doing just that. "That's how I met Alton. He's made some big contributions that allowed me to start researching their history more, and we became friends shortly after he offered to fund me."

Caitlyn found the answer to be satisfactory, at least. "So why are you so interested in gypsy history?" she asked, taking care to step around the same puddle that Ezreal had just plowed through.

Surprisingly, Ezreal did not answer right away. "I want to find the true history," his voice held a certain degree of reverence when he finally spoke. "A historical record unclouded by the bias of the city-states, a way to know exactly where we came from. The knowledge has been lost for thousands of years, but I've made it my mission to find it."

"So you're hoping that as outside observers the gypsies may have a more dependable record than us, at least when it comes to the more unsavory bits that our historians might cover up."

"Pretty much," Ezreal replied, casting a glance at her over his shoulder. "Unfortunately I haven't been very successful in finding the missing pieces so far, but I'm hoping my next expedition will turn up something worthwhile."

The rest of the journey passed in relative silence as Ezreal led Caitlyn to the Aravon Estate. Caitlyn herself was quite lost by the time Ezreal stopped by a branch in the tunnel marked by the letters "HW" and led her through it. After ten feet of level ground, the tunnel began to slope upwards and eventually ended in a flight of stairs carved out of the earth itself. In the light cast by Ezreal's magic lantern, Caitlyn could see that the end of the tunnel was embraced by the roots of a large tree of some sort, and the stairs ended at a wall made of pale wood.

Ezreal reached the top of the stairs and ran the fingers of his gloved hand along the wall's surface. A thin seam appeared on the wood's smooth surface, tracing the shape of a doorway that two people could easily fit through. The new door responded to the light push Ezreal applied to it with his hand, revealing a canopy of slim leaves and whip-like boughs beyond.

"Did you make this, Ezreal?" Caitlyn asked as she examined the door more closely. She knew that only a magic user of some sort would be able to shape it so well without leaving the tree vulnerable to disease.

"No, it's been here for a long time," Ezreal stepped aside and let Caitlyn pass. He blinked, and slapped a hand to his forehead. "Damn, I got an appointment I have to get to! I gotta get going, later Caitlyn!" He promptly shut the door as soon as Caitlyn was out, preventing her from even giving him a quick thank you before he was gone.

With the willow door shut, Caitlyn found it impossible to even tell that there had been an entrance there in the first place. Whoever had made it was extremely skilled, and Caitlyn found herself wondering what the door had originally been used for. With Ezreal gone and the door hidden, there was nowhere to go but forward. Caitlyn dusted a bit of dirt off one sleeve and parted the curtain of willow boughs to find the expansive grounds of the Aravon estate.

Moonlight bathed the landscape before her, giving Caitlyn a good view of her surroundings even at this late hour. The grounds had been well-kept at some point in the past, but they were overgrown and wild now. The house itself seemed to be in better condition from what she could see of it, and a single light shone from one of the ground floor windows.

Caitlyn stepped out of the willow's foliage and started toward the main house. A cobblestone path wound past the willow and the pond it stood beside, and she followed it toward the light. The grounds were completely silent, without the slightest breath of wind to stir its bushes and trees. It was strange to one accustomed to the constant sounds of a busy city, but Caitlyn found reason to be grateful for the silence. She would be more likely to hear any potential attackers who might be trying to sneak up on her.

The door beside the lit window opened as Caitlyn approached, revealing the familiar countenance of Alton Wesson. He gave Caitlyn a grateful smile as he turned and retrieved the lantern that had been lighting the window. "Thank you for coming. I trust you had a safe journey?"

"Yes, Ezreal makes for an excellent guide," Caitlyn replied, somewhat perplexed at Alton's gratitude. It made her wonder what personal stakes Alton might have in the occurrences of the past few days, and she made a mental note to ask him about it sometime in the near future.

"Good, good," Alton turned and started to make his way down the hallway beyond the door, gesturing for Caitlyn to follow.

Caitlyn shut the door behind herself and followed Alton into the depths of the Aravon household. From what she could remember of the history surrounding the estate, the owners had died a few decades ago, rich but heir-less, and had left the entirety of their fortune to Alton. Everything was relatively clean and free of dust, more well-kept than the gardens, but the style of the decorations was fairly out of date.

"So, Mr. Wesson," Caitlyn began as they turned into a larger hall lined with portraits of Aravon family members. "What's your game? What do you intend to get out of this?"

Alton slowed his pace slightly. "It is a long story... But to put it simply, I believe what you have said about Twisted Fate's character and I would like to give you the opportunity to set things right."

"You and I both know that's not all," Caitlyn's voice was a bit sharper than she would have liked, but unfinished explanations and secrets just wouldn't cut it at the moment.

The caretaker did not reply, instead hurrying down the hall to one portrait in particular. He stopped before it and lifted the lantern. "Does she look at all familiar to you?" Alton asked, his gray eyes watching Caitlyn carefully.

Caitlyn shot him a slight glare since he seemed to be changing the subject, and glanced up at the painting. The portrait's subject was a young woman with shining black hair, pale smooth skin and blue eyes. A beam of moonlight from one of the hall's windows slanted across the subject's face, revealing her features in greater detail. At first Caitlyn found nothing that she recognized, but after further examination, she realized that the eyes really caught her. She had seen eyes like that before, deep blue streaked with silver, colors that together would make the eyes appear pale blue from a distance, but she couldn't quite remember where.

"Yes..." Caitlyn said slowly, still trying to place where she had seen that eye color before. "The eyes strike me as familiar, but I can't quite place them." She turned her eyes back to Alton. "But that still doesn't tell me what else you're in this for."

"It's embarrassing..." he said, almost too quietly for Caitlyn to hear. "I believe Twisted Fate may be someone I've been looking for," he turned from the painting and started down the hall again. "I don't know what I'll do if I'm wrong... But to find out, Twisted Fate must survive and be proven innocent."

Caitlyn hurried after Alton as he led her down the hall. She leaned to her right to get a look at Alton's face, and noticed that his eyes were sad and distant, his cheeks and forehead slightly flushed with embarrassment. "You would potentially risk the safety of Piltover and Valoran on a hope?" she prodded. While Alton did seem candid enough, it wouldn't hurt to needle at least a little more information out of him.

Alton stopped with a loud sigh, his shoulders drooping with the outward rush of air as the arm holding the lantern dropped to his side. "Yes, it's selfish. Perhaps insane, even. All I have are intuition and the word of a long-time friend, as well as the faith I have in my Sheriff's abilities," melancholy hung heavy in Alton's voice as he stared at the rug a few feet in front of him.

The question had been a bit out of line, and Caitlyn felt embarrassed for having pushed Alton that way. She would make up for it by seeing if he was right. "Well, we'd best be on our way, then," she offered.

The lantern arm rose again, and Alton nodded. Silence stretched between them as he led her down the hall again.

"So what's next?" Caitlyn asked as they approached a staircase.

"I'm taking you to one of the bedrooms so you can find a disguise," Alton replied. He began to make his way up the stairs, still fairly nimble despite his obvious age. "I cannot properly equip you without drawing unwanted attention to myself, so I will send you to George. He'll be able to provide all the equipment you need without giving us away."

Caitlyn nodded. It made sense to do it that way, since Alton wouldn't be able to help her again if he was in prison.

"Unfortunately everything I have is rather out of date, but I believe you'll be able to make do," Alton added. He put a hand to the banister to steady himself as they reached the top of the stairs.

"So who is this George fellow?" Caitlyn kept pace with Alton easily as he led her down a smaller hallway that was lined with bedroom doors. "A friend of yours, right?"

"We've known each other for ten years at least," Alton brought them to a halt at the end of the hallway and opened the door on their right. "He owns the casino outside of Piltover."

"That's right... The owner of the Golden Gun, I've met with him a few times before," Caitlyn said. George Connor ran a tight ship—he obeyed all laws and restrictions that Piltover placed on him in exchange for having his business in their territory and ensured that his customers were kept very safe with a well-armed guard force. An extra order or so of guard equipment wouldn't rouse much suspicion, as he was known to be very cautious when it came to those who might try to take advantage of his success or his customers. She entered the bedroom and Alton shut the door politely behind her.

Caitlyn found the light switch, revealing a beautifully furnished and well-kept bedroom. Deep blue cloth and rich brown hardwood furniture gave the room a calm feel, with a few silver decorations to light things up here and there. Every surface was spotless, dusted and polished by a loving hand, but the room felt empty. It was obvious that its original occupant had been gone for a very long time.

A look in the closet revealed that all the clothes it contained were out of date, just as Alton had said, but Caitlyn found a few pieces that were simple enough to pass as inconspicuous in modern day Piltover. She chose a simple light gown of pale green, a pair of light brown leather slippers, a white overcoat, and a veiled bonnet in a shade of green to match the dress. Once changed, Caitlyn tied her long hair up in a bun and settled the bonnet over it. The dark clothing Caitlyn had worn for her trip through the Underground was tucked into a brown leather purse to spare Alton the trouble of disposing of them himself.

When Caitlyn emerged from the bedroom, her disguise as a young sweetheart out to meet her love at the casino was complete. Alton quickly looked over her disguise and nodded in approval. "Do you know how to get to the hourly carriages that go to the casino?" he asked as he led her downstairs once again.

"Yes, I know where the nearest one should be," Caitlyn replied. She lowered the veil over her face and followed Alton down the hall. Silence settled over them once again, and Caitlyn thought of what lay ahead as they walked. Just one more meeting and she would be free to investigate the leak, likely with high quality equipment to help her on her way as well. Things were looking up, and it wasn't as if she could be picky with the help she got.

"I didn't mean to be so... Harsh, earlier," Caitlyn began as they reached the stairs.

Alton gave her a weak chuckle in reply and glanced at her over one shoulder. "It is alright. Personally, I'm glad that you are questioning our help. Anyone under an enchantment would have taken the help without question and left without a word otherwise," he turned his attention back to navigating the staircase.

"So they would," Caitlyn said with a small smile.

The walk to one of the estate's many side gates was uneventful and uninteresting, as the two did not talk much. Caitlyn gave Alton a small wave of farewell as she stepped out onto the road, eager to be on her way.

"Stay safe," Alton whispered. "And be sure to show this to one of the guards when you get there," he produced a gold coin printed with the casino's logo from a breast pocket. "They will take you straight to George when they see it."

"Right," Caitlyn accepted the coin and tucked it into her purse. "Thank you, Alton."

Alton gave her a genuine smile in reply and shut the gate with a loud creak and rusty click. Now alone and with only the light of the moon and a few faraway lamps to see by, Caitlyn got her bearings and began to make her way toward the Golden Gun's hourly carriage.

Caitlyn arrived at the carriage's waiting area just as the vehicle came to a halt before it. She had picked shoes that were relatively comfortable and had experienced little difficulty on her way there as a result, but she accepted the arm of a courteous young gentleman when it was offered to her all the same. The part had to be properly played, after all. Caitlyn returned the man's politeness with a meek "thank you" and took a seat on one of the carriage's cushioned benches.

Golden Gun Casino still used horses to move their carriages, partly for the fact that the techarriages commonly used on the paved streets of Piltover could not yet survive the rougher roads outside the city, and also for the sheer novelty of having them. To people well used to mechanically-driven carriages, horses were a refreshing change, especially when they were as well-groomed and bred as the beasts that the Golden Gun used. Caitlyn kept one eye on the rest of the passengers as she thought of what would come after the meeting with George. Investigations would have to start in Zaun, as much as she hated the thought of having to go to that wretched, stinking trash heap of a city-state. Once more information on whoever had given over the files was revealed, Caitlyn would be able to track the problem to its source. And after that... Well, the guilty parties would be in for a very bad day, to say the least.

The carriage traveled swiftly enough, and it entered the front driveway of the casino within half an hour of its departure from Piltover. There were still a few guests out and about despite the extreme lateness of the hour, as well as a healthy number of guards about to keep the peace. Caitlyn stepped off the carriage and made her way over to one, taking the coin from her purse as she did.

"Excuse me," she said politely as she offered the coin.

The man gave Caitlyn a nod of greeting and examined the coin. "Welcome to the Golden Gun," he said once he'd conducted a satisfactory inspection of the gold piece. "I'll take you right up."

Due to the lateness of the hour the casino was not as loud or crowded as it usually would be, though there were definitely a few night owls trying their luck at the slots and games. Caitlyn noticed quite a few spotters spread among the gamblers as she followed the guard; George didn't appreciate cheaters in his casino. The main floor was lit up with warm gold lights and glittered with the shine of hardwood game tables and the metal of the slot machines. It was more flashy than Caitlyn remembered it, likely because good business had allowed George to upgrade the equipment and improve his decorations.

The guard led Caitlyn through the main floor and past several restaurants and shops before he finally came to a halt in front of a single door marked Staff Only. The hallway beyond was much less showy than the public parts of the casino, and the quiet that enveloped them as the guard shut the door was a bit of a shock after the clamor of the main floor. Think carpet dulled the noise of their footsteps as the guard continued down the hall.

A flight of stairs and a few more hallways brought Caitlyn to a halt before a pair of large hardwood double doors, which were polished to a shine and obviously belonged to someone very important. They opened before the guard could knock, and Ezreal emerged from the room beyond. He was deep in thought about whatever he had been discussing, so much so that he didn't recognize Caitlyn as he walked past her and treated her as a stranger, giving her and the guard a polite nod and distracted hello as he left. Caitlyn spotted the familiar gleam in his eye that meant he would be departing on another adventure soon, and she wondered what he was off to discover this time.

The guard knocked on the still-open door to ask permission to enter. "Someone to see you, Mr. Connor."

"Is it a woman?" the playful voice that answered possessed a distinct southern drawl not unlike Twisted Fate's, marking the man who owned it as a foreigner.

"Yes, Mr. Connor," the guard replied.

"Good, send her in."

Caitlyn stepped forward before the guard could tell her to go in, and the doors shut with a quiet _click_ once she was inside. "Good evening, Mr. Connor," Caitlyn lifted the veil that covered her face. "I've been told that you want to help me."

"Yes, I do indeed. And please, call me George," George gave Caitlyn a jovial, if fake, smile. He got up from behind the large desk he was sitting at, opened one of its drawers, and set the bag he had taken from it on the desktop. "I gathered up everything I could think of in the way of essentials, but I'll let you have the final say on what goes."

George reached behind his desk again and hit a series of hidden switches. The wall behind him slid back and opened to reveal a room that could easily pass for a small armory. "Have your pick, my lady," he gestured at the weapons and gear with a flourish.

Caitlyn set her hands on her hips and eyed the display. She had to admit that the variety and quality of the equipment was impressive, and there was even one gun model present that had been released only the previous week. "You don't mess about when it comes to weaponry," Caitlyn said as she walked into the hidden room. "Are you expecting me to fight a war or two?" she teased.

"You could be going into hostile territory," George gave her a genuine grin this time. "Like Zaun for example, so I packed a little extra."

"Well I can't say I don't appreciate it," Caitlyn gave him a faint smile in return as she selected one of the sniper rifles and looked it over. The gun was top quality, well-balanced and not overly heavy; a serviceable replacement for her own custom rifle. "So, George... Why've you decided to cast your lot in with me? You're not worried that the accusations might be true?" she gave him a sidelong glance as she set the rifle down on a counter and picked up a revolver.

"_No,_" George's reply was short and more than a little ill-tempered. The suggestion had obviously hit a nerve, and Caitlyn could see the frustration displayed plainly on his face. "I _know_ Twisted Fate, he's felt nothin' but pain over the loss of his family."

Caitlyn turned, so she could face George head-on. "How long have you known him?" she asked, a tone of genuine interest in her voice.

"We met about twenty years ago," George replied without missing a beat. "He was twelve, at the time. I reckon it'd been under a week since the massacre happened when I got to him..." He focused his gaze on the floor a few feet in front of him as his eyes took on the faraway look of one temporarily lost in memory.

"What was he like?" Caitlyn set the handgun down on the counter and leaned against its edge.

"Just about the saddest damn kid you'd ever meet," George leaned against the counter opposite Caitlyn and folded his arms over his chest. "Completely withdrawn, didn't trust anyone, barely even talked. I'm still surprised he agreed to come along with me at all. Maybe he was desperate, maybe he figured he could run away if things turned sour, but luckily they didn't."

"You didn't try taking him to live with other gypsies? There are several other groups scattered around Valoran as I recall," Caitlyn pushed off her counter and returned to examining the equipment, this time selecting a combat knife from the collection and keeping one ear on George all the while.

"That was the first thing I tried," George growled. "Got him to the nearest gypsy tribe I could find," there was a rising ire in his voice, and Caitlyn could feel the anger rolling off him even with her back turned. "But instead of taking him in, instead of helping one of her own, their _mystic_ decided to banish him. A child of twelve for gods' sake! Forbade him from coming into contact with other gypsies ever again all because she thought he was cursed or bad luck or some other _nonsense_," he spat the final word as if its very existence offended him and fell into a fuming silence.

The knife made a quiet _schlick_ as Caitlyn sheathed it. "They banished him," the statement was one of disbelief rather than an affirmation; Caitlyn considered such an act to be unusually cruel as well. "And I suppose you fully took him in after that?"

"Of course. What else could I do?" George had calmed somewhat, but it was obvious that he was still lingering on the banishment.

"Right. And you taught him how to be a con artist as well, didn't you?" Caitlyn turned to George again, this time with a cheeky smile on her face. "I always suspected what you used to be, but I never investigated since you were playing by the rules and acting as a positive influence on society with your personal charities."

George held his hands up in defeat. "Felt like it was all I could do at that point. He stayed with me for six years, then decided to strike out on his own. The casino was just built by then, if you remember. I tried to get him to stay, but he refused to listen."

"Was it his idea to keep your connection a secret?" Caitlyn had moved on to another part of the room, this time examining some high-quality masks that could be used in undercover work.

"As a matter of fact, yes," George replied. "He said he didn't want our connection complicating things. I had no idea what he was up to until he became a League champion, and I've been following him from a distance ever since," he said quietly.

Caitlyn could sense the hurt in his voice at Twisted Fate's long absence and wondered what the Card Master's reasons may have been. She gave George a humorless half-laugh after a few moments of thought. "Well I expect you'll finally get that reunion once this is all over," she set the mask down on the counter. "So how do you and Alton Wesson know each other?"

"I go pay my respects to Fate's family every now and then," George moved aside so Caitlyn could get at the equipment behind him. "Alton does the same. We happened to meet one day a few years ago, started talking. I let it slip that I'd met a young boy who survived but didn't tell him everything else; Fate was very specific in telling me to keep quiet about the whole thing. I don't know if Fate is really who Alton's looking for, I couldn't bring myself to crush his hope like that."

"We'll find the truth of it," Caitlyn gave George a reassuring smile, then reached for the bag of holding that he had set on the counter behind him. It was made of dark brown leather and created to look like a light saddle bag, the kind that could easily be folded up and stowed in a large pocket or other bag if need be.

George moved it out of her reach just before she could pick it up. "Sorry, forgot to give you yours," he removed a similar bag of a lighter color from a pocket in his jacket and handed it to her. "The other's for Fate, in case he needs it."

Caitlyn nodded and accepted the bag; it was a good idea to send one along for Fate as well. One could never be too prepared. "I'll see that he gets it if we meet up again."

Final selection of Caitlyn's equipment went quickly as she knew what she would likely need along the way. Once properly supplied, Caitlyn tucked both bags of holding into her purse and bid George farewell. "I'll see what I can do about Twisted Fate's situation. But you should remember that my current priority is to find who stole the case files."

"Be careful over in Zaun. There's no guarantee that they'll just ship you back to the League if they think they can get away with more," George cautioned.

"Don't worry about me," Caitlyn quipped as she lowered the veil of her bonnet over her face. "I _am_ the woman who cleaned up Piltover when it was overrun by crime lords," she gave him a wave of farewell and let herself out.

Soon she was seated in a private carriage—courtesy of George—that would take her to a town near the southern border of Piltover's territories. She would find her way into Zaun from there and start her investigations. The excitement of the night began to weigh on her, and Caitlyn decided to review what had taken place before she could allow herself to fall into a light sleep. Her thoughts settled on the portrait of the young woman, and Caitlyn again tried to remember where she had seen eyes of that color before. It was only once Caitlyn had begun to drift off to sleep that she finally remembered; she had seen that eye color just a week before, during the interrogation of Twisted Fate.

* * *

A/N: I'd like to say a big thank you to Viper of Grand for editing and encouraging/inspiring me to get this chapter done. Hopefully they will be more frequent from now on, sorry for the long wait.


	5. Chapter 5: For Whom the Owl Calls

**Chapter 5: For Whom the Owl Calls**

A real mattress felt even better than he had imagined. Twisted Fate reluctantly opened his eyes and stared up at the ceiling. The events of the past few days returned to him in a blur, and he closed his eyes again for a brief moment and wished it was all some stupid nightmare. But it wasn't, and he had to get up and get out of town before Tryndamere or worse, _Graves_, showed up to further ruin things for him.

Fate heaved himself out of bed and stretched. He still ached from the events of the past few days, but time and rest were already helping them heal more quickly. What little he'd left out around the room was quickly picked up and tossed back into his bag; it didn't pay to make a mess and delay yourself if you had to pick everything up in a hurry. A light brown shirt, dark blue jeans, and the same black boots that he had worn yesterday. He was about to put the mask on his face once again when his bedroom door was suddenly unlocked and opened.

The maid who stood in the doorway looked from Fate's face to the mask and dashed back down the hall. He swore and hurled the mask into his bag even as the sound of heavy-booted feet bore down on his room from the direction the maid had fled. A resounding clatter sounded behind Twisted Fate as he opened his window.

"Halt!" the lead border guard as he and his two comrades raised their bows to fire.

There was little time, but Twisted Fate was able to spot a place he could jump to without injuring himself, on the roof of a woodshed almost directly below his window. Arrows sailed over his head and thudded into the windowsill as he jumped to the shed below. The landing was hard but resulted in no injuries, and Fate jumped for the ground even as another volley of arrows thudded into the patch of roof he had been standing on just moments before.

"There he goes!" a group of barbarians on the ground spotted him around the inn's front corner and began to give chase.

Twisted Fate made a mad dash for the woods, where he would be better shielded from the arrows they were firing at him. Behind him, the heavy thump of a horse's hooves thundered through the din of his pursuers; Tryndamere was closing in. The forest loomed massive and green before him, and Twisted Fate was just about to reach the trees when a dark figure lunged at him from along the treeline.

The barbarian hurled a weighted net so that it unfurled over Twisted Fate's path. Fate threw himself to the side in an attempt to dodge the net, and it hooked on his right boot before he could get out of range. He drew a gold-tinted card from his breast pocket and hurled it at the ground between himself and Tryndamere, who was only a few feet away. The impact released the card's magic in an eye-smartingly brilliant, loud explosion.

Tryndamere's horse skidded to a halt and reared back suddenly enough to nearly unseat his rider. It was all Tryndamere could do just to hold on while as his horse dropped back to the ground and thrashed its head, dazed and still disoriented from the explosion. The enchantments in Tryndamere's armor had again saved him from the majority of the magic contained in Twisted Fate's card, though there was still an annoying off-colored spot from looking at the explosion when it took place. Fate was already free again by the time Tryndamere spotted him, and he went on ahead as the man who had thrown the net tried to regain his senses.

Though Fate had managed to get a lead on Tryndamere and the men who followed him, the Barbarian King was slowly but surely gaining as the chase dragged on. Where Twisted Fate was a good sprinter, Tryndamere had him beat on endurance, and would easily catch up once Fate was tired enough. Other members of Tryndamere's party were no doubt circling ahead to cut him off as well, and he kept his eyes and ears as alert as possible as he continued his mad dash through the forest.

A grand old oak tree loomed ahead, Twisted Fate's senses were peaked and waiting for even the slightest—

—he was running past the grand oak when it whistled in out of nowhere and hit him. One of Ashe's massive magic-laden arrows struck him square on the right shoulder and shattered, its icy mass wrapping around his body and the tree behind him—

—a sudden wave of vertigo greeted Twisted Fate as his mind returned to the present. He stumbled and tried to regain his speed, then instinctively threw himself to the far left side of the tree. A high, brief whistle sounded from the other side, followed by a resounding crash as Ashe's arrow struck the place where Twisted Fate should have been.

Frost crept around the trunk of the tree as Fate regained his feet and dashed off again. He was astounded that was able to predict the arrow's path—he'd always thought his cards were needed for any sort of precognition, even in the short-term. The immediate downside of this new ability was that what little magic he'd been able to replenish overnight was now gone. It was that much less to be used in his own defense, but he would've been caught otherwise. Now he needed to get somewhere safe so he could set up a Gate before he was completely dry.

The rustle of leaves above his head drew Twisted Fate's attention, and he looked up to find one of Ashe's pet hawks keeping pace with him. It screeched at him just as a volley of arrows pierced the canopy above and thudded into the ground several feet behind him. Their hungering frost spread almost to his heels as he ran, sending up a flurry of crackles as it abruptly formed and began to thaw. So Ashe couldn't see him directly, but she was somehow using her hawk to gauge his location. He would have to fix that before her aim via such an indirect method improved.

Twisted Fate did his best to be discreet as he thumbed the lining of his breast pocket and glanced down to see what cards would be easiest to get to. A few of the blues were closest to the front, but they weren't quite as effective in the normal world as they were on the Fields of Justice. He slipped his fingers behind the blue cards and pulled out a red one. It wouldn't get the hawk off his tail permanently, but at least it would slow the bird down.

When he looked up for the hawk again it seemed to know that he was up to something and watched him warily from its position above his left shoulder. Simply hurling the card at the hawk probably wouldn't work; it was moving too quickly and could very well dodge anything he managed to throw at it. Twisted Fate's eyes flicked ahead to an incoming branch that extended above his path and the hawk's level of flight. He smirked; that would do nicely.

At the exact moment that Twisted Fate passed below the branch, his hand flicked up in a blur and sent the card sailing toward it. Once it connected with the branch above, the card's slowing enchantment spread along its length and dropped deep red tendrils of magic to block the hawk's path.

The hawk let out an annoyed shriek as the magic brushed its wings and caused its flight speed to slow. It flapped in a frenzy as it struggled to regain altitude, but the sudden reduction in speed caused it to stall and its flapping only served to lessen the severity of its fall. As the hawk sailed toward the ground, another hail of arrows whistled through the forest canopy, this time just a few feet in front of Twisted Fate.

Ashe stood a good chance of getting lucky even without the hawk at this point, and Twisted Fate made an abrupt left turn in order to deviate from the path she might still expect of him. The forest floor started to slope upward, and Twisted Fate hoped it might lead him to an open ridge where he would be able to conjure a sight-guided Gate. After all, Gating to a place you could see was easier and took less magic, since he had to set up fewer safety parameters in the process of casting the spell.

Large moss-covered boulders broke through the loam as Twisted Fate continued upward. They complicated things by forcing him to climb over or go around them, but it was a good sign as far as he was concerned; that ridge might be fairly close with so many rocks around. A welcoming breeze caressed his face, herald to the open air that lay beyond. He could see blue sky and sunlight beyond the tree trunks ahead of him now, just a little farther and he might be able to get away cleanly this time.

Twisted Fate emerged from the trees and scouted the surrounding terrain. A hillside several miles below and to the south caught his eye, from there he could get to the Noxian border and finally be rid of Tryndamere and Ashe. At least Noxus didn't know exactly where he was at the moment. Or rather, he hoped they didn't.

Unseen in the forest behind him, two of Ashe's hawks perched on branches, one on either side while their mistress lined up her shot. Twisted Fate completed his Gate—kept as inconspicuous as possible now of course—and stepped through, unaware of the enchanted arrow that now sped toward his back. His boots crunched on the dry grass of the hillside, and Twisted Fate began to breathe a sigh of relief as the Gate began to dissipate directly behind him.

The arrow had reached the Gate just after Twisted Fate passed through and entered just before it could completely dissipate. Though it was shredded by the ride through the spent Gate, the arrow arrived as a chilling shower of sleet and hard snow that struck Twisted Fate square between the shoulder blades. The arrow's momentum was enough to knock him off his feet, bruising his upper back and soaking his clothes clean through.

Twisted Fate gasped at the sudden chill and slowly got back to his feet. The ice and snow slid off his back as he straightened, but the fierce cold remained. He shook himself in an attempt to warm up a little and made his way toward the cover of trees beyond the hill. The hawks would be searching soon, he had to keep moving.

After the hill stood another large forest, and Twisted Fate breathed a quiet sigh of relief as he passed under its verdant canopy. He hoped that Ashe's sight-bound hawks would be unable to locate him before he was closer to the border; the Freljord champions would avoid going into Noxian territory, if only to lessen the likelihood of Noxus getting its hands on him. With the shade came a more severe chill, however, and Twisted Fate quickly changed his shirt to avoid hypothermia. The dark blue shirt felt good against his cold skin, and the absence of the enchanted meltwater allowed him to start warming up again.

Just ten minutes of walking found Twisted Fate within two miles of the Noxus-Freljord border, and his spirits raised considerably. Soon he would be away from the Freljordans and their frost and their rage, and he would be able to stop running... If only for a little while.

The forest was pleasant now that he was dry, but he couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. Then it hit him; everything was too quiet, no birds or animals in the brush. Something had scared them off before he arrived, and that same something could be lurking behind any tree he passed, just waiting to spring on him when he was most vulnerable.

Twisted Fate stopped and searched the surrounding forest. As far as he could see, there was nothing around but trees and shrubs. He was about to move on when he noticed that his breath was visible, and that the air had become as cold as the first frost of winter. As his pulse rose to match his growing anxiety, Twisted Fate cast around again and this time tried to consciously activate the precognition ability he'd accidentally used earlier.

The growing crackle of fast-spreading frost filled his ears, but he could hear nothing else. Twisted Fate's head began to hurt from the effort, and he turned again to search the forest—

—his back was turned when they arrived. A massive creature, stout and covered in coarse hair, charged past quickly enough to be seen as only a blur. A tusk or horn opened a gash on his left arm, and the pale rider on its back seized him by the throat with one large hand—

—Twisted Fate turned in time to spot the boar and rider as they thundered toward him. There was little time to react, but he managed to throw himself to the side just as they passed.

Sejuani whirled atop Bristle's back and swung at the ground he landed on with her mace, but she was unable to properly follow up her attack as her boar's momentum carried them deeper into the forest. Frost erupted in an arc around the impact and clutched at Twisted Fate's boots as he scrambled away. He dashed off in the opposite direction as Sejuani and Bristle turned to chase him down.

The trees were annoying obstacles for Sejuani and her boar, but ultimately they only slightly slowed her progress. There, almost in range. Sejuani lifted her mace and took aim at her quarry.

Twisted Fate ducked off to the left and into a thicket of trees just before Sejuani could throw her mace. The Winter's Wrath scowled and nudged Bristle around to the thicket that Twisted Fate had disappeared into. It was almost too close for Bristle to walk through, but he managed to move easily through the trees with surprising grace for a giant boar. Sejuani searched the tree branches while Bristle kept his eyes on the ground and tree trunks.

The pair found Twisted Fate in the branches of the thicket's tallest tree, near the edge of its far side. Sejuani drew Bristle to a halt at the base of the tree and glowered up at Twisted Fate. "It's over, scum. Get down here before I hurt you."

"No," Twisted Fate paused to glare down at Sejuani before making his way further up the tree. "I don't feel like bein' _manhandled_ by you today."

"Humph," Sejuani shrugged her shoulders and nudged Bristle into backing up. "Fine, we'll do this the hard way, then," she raised her mace as Bristle gave her room to swing, frigid magic crackling along its spiked length and driving the summer warmth from the surrounding air. With a resounding battle cry Sejuani slammed her mace into the trunk of the tree Twisted Fate was hiding in with a loud _crack_. The sound of the impact was followed by the creak of splintering wood; Sejuani's attack had hit hard, but it was the explosive freeze that ultimately did the most damage.

The tree fell with a thunderous crash. Leaves shaken loose from its neighbors rained down around Sejuani and her boar as the pair made their way toward the tree's crown, where Twisted Fate would be. There was no sign of him among the debris, however, and Sejuani began to worry that he'd somehow been able to escape.

Bristle continued around the tree's broken crown as Sejuani scanned the surrounding trees, alert for any movement or disturbed shrub that might give away her quarry's location. She looked down at the sound of an explosion and a brief squeal of surprise from Bristle, who had just stepped on a hidden gold card.

Twisted Fate left the cover of the fallen tree's branches at the sound of the gold card's activation and ran as quickly as he could toward the border while the pair were distracted. It would be slower going now, unfortunately; he'd injured his lower right leg when the tree fell, and it was already hampering his ability to run. He would need another Gate to get beyond Sejuani's reach, a tall order now that he was using up magic to plant card traps to slow her down.

A blue card sat at the front of his pocket, and Twisted Fate pulled it out along with a red card from deeper within the stack. Hopefully there would be some good pockets of magic around, blue cards never worked as well out here as they did on the Fields of Justice. Twisted Fate chucked the red card at a nearby tree root and focused on the blue card. A sudden sense of clarity rushed through his mind, and he looked up at the forest. No pockets of magic that he could see in this area.

Cold sweat pricked Twisted Fate's forehead as he continued on, blue card still in hand as he searched for a build up of magic that he could use before the card's clarity effect wore off. He was about to give up when he glanced at the boughs of a nearby tree and noticed an odd opalescent shimmer—the telltale sign that a large amount of ambient magic was present. Twisted Fate breathed a sigh of relief and tossed the blue card at the pocket of magic, which rippled slightly and flowed back down the card's path and into his body. It wasn't a permanent fix for spent power since it would dissipate within ten minutes of using the card out here, but it was far better than nothing.

Twisted Fate checked his position as he came to the crest of a hill and noted that he was still bound for the Freljord-Noxus border. Good, it meant he wouldn't have to change course and risk running into Sejuani, who was likely enjoying the series of traps he'd left for her. In fact, a sight-aligned Gate wouldn't be completely out of the question at the moment, and it would put him within a mile of his destination.

The Gate required another blue card—there happened to be a pocket of magic nearby—and Twisted Fate was on his way. He figured he had enough of a head start now that he could walk, since his leg was hurting him anyway and caused him to limp slightly. These forests were more active than the ones Sejuani had been thundering through earlier, and Twisted Fate even spotted a few of Freljord's bolder bird species flitting among the trees.

A familiar streak of brown fluttered past as Twisted Fate entered a clearing, and he looked up to find one of Ashe's hawks circling him. His eyes widened with surprise and he hurried through the clearing, but not quickly enough to avoid the arrow that came from above. The massive enchanted arrow slammed into the earth just behind him, close enough to entrap him in the ice's cold, grasping fingers. Ashe had angled it upward, as she had done with her volleys before, to avoid being hampered by the surrounding trees.

Twisted Fate let out a ragged gasp as the chill took him again and struggled against the ice that held him. It cracked slightly, but other than that his movements had no effect on his prison. Panic flooded in as the chill became worse, and Twisted Fate thrashed as much as he could with his limbs bound as they were. The attempt only served to tire him more on top of the low temperature. He drooped against the ice, his energy spent for the moment.

Now all he could do was wait for the ice to thaw enough to break, and he had no idea how long that would take. One thing was sure, though; Twisted Fate would have to escape before Ashe and Tryndamere spotted him, otherwise there would be no hiding from the Frost Archer's superb aim.

The cold made Fate absolutely miserable as he waited. His thin body never did well in the cold, and soon his face became pale and his lips tinged with blue. He was about to try to break free again when Ashe's hawk began screeching in distress.

Sejuani had finally caught up.

"Well, lucky me," Sejuani's deep voice echoed through the clearing as she and Bristle emerged from the trees behind Twisted Fate.

Ashe's hawk was spread eagle on the trunk of a nearby tree, trapped against its trunk with Sejuani's frost magic. It screeched with displeasure, but was unable to move its head and look into the clearing to give Ashe a view of what was going on.

Twisted Fate surged against the ice again and cracked the part that held his torso. Ice shards clattered to the ground as he struggled now, even as Sejuani closed in behind him.

Bristle sauntered through the clearing, reflecting how pleased his mistress felt. Sejuani ordered him to halt just behind Twisted Fate and lifted her shield.

The shield hit Twisted Fate full in the back, knocking the wind out of him and shattering the ice that held him. It was powerful enough of a blow to knock him flying, and the landing was rough enough to further daze him on top of what he'd experienced from being struck. Twisted Fate attempted to rise, and slumped back to the forest floor as he was overcome by the lingering effects of Sejuani's blow.

Sejuani was just nudging Bristle to step over the remains of Twisted Fate's icy prison when a brief whistle shrilled through the air. A loud crash followed directly after the cessation of the whistle's sound, and Sejuani let out a howl of rage as Ashe's arrow hit her dead on and held her in its icy clutches. Even as the ice solidified, it began to weaken as a result of Sejuani's own magic and Bristle's efforts to get free. She glared down at Twisted Fate, who had regained his senses and was getting to his feet again.

Twisted Fate was still aching from Sejuani's last attack, but he wasn't about to let that slow him down. The border was within running distance, he just had to get there before Sejuani caught up with him and he'd be safe from her.

By the time Sejuani got loose, Twisted Fate was out of her sight and well away from where she and Bristle were. The last of the ice crumbled, and Bristle shook himself to scatter the last pieces as Sejuani nudged him toward the edge of the clearing. Hopefully that injured leg had held Twisted Fate up enough that she could catch him.

Sejuani searched along the trail Twisted Fate had left behind, but he was long gone. Rage that had blazed hot in her chest now turned icy as Sejuani cursed Ashe for getting in her way. She was about to leave the forest's edge when a familiar voice called out to her.

"Sejuani, halt!" it was Ashe, seated on her pale steed with Tryndamere mounted on his own horse beside her.

The Winter's Wrath gave Ashe her most venomous glare. "I would've had him if _you_ hadn't gotten in the way," Sejuani gestured violently at Ashe with her mace at the word _you_, making it plainly obvious that she was downright furious with what the Frost Archer had done.

Ashe's cool expression didn't change as Sejuani thundered at her, and in fact it seemed the larger woman's anger had no effect on her whatsoever. "If you wanted me to aim better, _you_ should not have incapacitated my hawk."

The two women locked eyes for a few moments, but it was Sejuani who looked away first; it was like having a staring match with a glacier, trying to argue with Ashe. "Regardless, I'm going on ahead," Sejuani nudged Bristle, and the two began to move toward the forest edge again.

"If you follow him into Noxian territory you'll only tip them off to where he might be," Ashe sounded a little too patient, and the tone only served to annoy Sejuani all the more. "You don't want the Noxians getting their hands on that favor, do you?"

Sejuani growled deep in her throat and avoided Ashe's gaze. "No, I don't," she turned back to Ashe. "So what do you suggest, _highness_?"

"Why not create a fake trail?" Tryndamere surprised both of them when he spoke up, as he had been silent for the first part of the conversation. "If they already know we've been chasing him, we could make it look like he doubled back into Freljord. And if they don't, we can make it look like he came down into a different part of Noxus's territory."

Ashe smiled. "Excellent idea, Tryndamere."

"It'll look suspicious if we cooperate," Sejuani grumbled. She turned Bristle back toward the forest. "But I'll drop in to hassle you if we cross paths again," with those parting words the pair disappeared into the forest, leaving Ashe and her company alone at the border.

High above and unnoticed by any below, a vulture cruised the rising air currents and watched as Ashe and Tryndamere left as well. It had been watching the borders for hours now, and had only just arrived in this area. Such a stroke of good fortune, to find three leaders of Freljord in such an odd place. Such a thing meant the man it was searching for must be some miles south, in Noxian territory.

The vulture wheeled and caught a current that carried it higher before turning southwards and leaving the forests of Freljord far behind.

* * *

Ezreal reined in his horse as he approached the edge of the Dragonrock Forest and jumped down. The plants and trees were noted as being much larger than usual the closer one came to the magical site, and he could see that the ground cover was much bigger even at this distance. He led Venture over to a secluded clearing and tethered him with a long lead. The dappled grey horse was a present from George and had incredibly strong nerves for a herd animal, just what an energetic rider like Ezreal needed in a mount.

Humans very rarely entered these woods nowadays, and as a result Ezreal had only the game trails to follow. Compared to some of the expeditions he'd been on in the past, traversing this lush forest was incredibly easy. It was finding the Drakestone itself that would be the hard part. It was said that this magical object would actively foil attempts by travelers to reach it if they were deemed "unworthy". Whether these criteria were determined by an inanimate spell or a thinking entity was part of what Ezreal hoped to find out.

After half an hour of light hiking, Ezreal reached his destination. Even after the amazing sights he'd witnessed through the years, Ezreal still found room for amazement and delight at the scene that greeted him when he arrived.

The massive trees that ringed this huge clearing gave it the feel of a grand cathedral, their trunks like towering pillars and the afternoon sunlight tinted green by their leaves. In the center of the clearing lay the Drakestone, its edges and dragon-like form worn from many years spent out in the elements. A crystal clear pool lined with gray stone surrounded the remarkable monument on all sides, requiring any who wished to reach it to either wade across or find a way over. Lush grass covered the clearing's floor with a thick, dark green carpet that dulled the sound of Ezreal's boots as he set foot on it.

As he entered the clearing itself, a glint of light from the shade of a nearby caught Ezreal's eye and he turned to see what it might be. Ezreal stared at the tree trunk for a moment, and the glint came again, flashing briefly in front of the tree trunk and several feet off the ground. He smiled; the ambient magic levels in this area were definitely high if they could visibly manifest like this. Now that he knew what to look for, he could see dozens of these glints flashing in the shade all around the clearing.

Ezreal continued to admire the glints of magic as he made his way deeper in. It was a relatively even distribution in this area, but on the other side of the Drakestone... The glints seemed to be non-existent in that part of the clearing. An interesting observation for sure, one that Ezreal decided to follow up on with an immediate investigation.

One brief walk later and Ezreal was entering the area he'd noticed earlier. The familiar hum of the magic was much quieter here, on top of the absence of the absence of the glints. Ezreal scanned the surrounding grass and found that it had been tread on recently, and further investigation revealed that all tracks led to and from the Drakestone. He followed the tracks to the edge of the clearing and beyond, where an abandoned campsite was found.

It was odd to see that a whole group had been here, since the gypsies associated with it had been wiped out and the site was now supposed to be completely abandoned. The oddity made him genuinely curious. That, and the fact that these visitors had somehow drained much of the magic from this side of the clearing.

Ezreal inspected the former campsite in finer detail, checking for any clue that might reveal the identity of the visitors. He finally came to the long-cold fire pit and what ashes remained in it. There were thin slips of charred paper, withered and black from the fire they'd been destroyed in. Perhaps they were not merely kindling, and Ezreal sorted through the ash to see if any unburned pieces might remain.

The search turned up three pieces of paper. They were damaged and no longer whole, but the characters written on them were still legible once the ash was dusted off. Ezreal removed a magnifying glass from a belt pouch and held the first piece in a patch of sunlight. Yes, the characters were easily visible on the parts that weren't charred, and whoever had written this was definitely using one of the gypsy dialects.

Three paper fragments written in a language that he was not fluent in. To Ezreal it was no real cause for frustration; after all, where would the fun be if everything was easy. He was poised on the edge of the unknown once again, just the place he loved to be.

Ezreal removed his current research log from his belt pouch and placed the three pieces on a blank page to keep them from being damaged on the way home. He closed the book carefully to avoid blowing them away, and strapped it shut with the belt that had been sewn into its cover. With that done, Ezreal rose, dusted his knees, and returned to the clearing.

The clearing was empty and calm as ever when Ezreal re-entered it, and he decided to start his investigation with the heart itself. Ezreal jogged to the edge of the pool and focused on shifting himself to the other side. The back of his left hand tingled briefly as the amulet in his glove reacted to his whim, and in a flash of light he was standing directly before the stone.

Now that he stood directly before it, Ezreal could truly appreciate how large the stone was. The head of the Drakestone was big, coming up to mid-thigh height and longer than it was tall. The rest of the body was even bigger, and Ezreal could still make out the shapes of the dragon's horns, its wings, and the tail that curled back around its body like a sleeping cat. It was made from hard gray stone and seemed to be carved from a single massive boulder.

Ezreal made his way around to the Drakestone's left flank for a closer inspection. Immediately several rows of characters were visible as Ezreal came around, again written in one of the gypsy languages. They were similar to those he'd seen on the papers recovered earlier, and Ezreal pulled out his journal again to confirm. Yes, they _were_ similar, though the characters on the papers seemed more refined. It meant those on the stone were likely part of a much earlier dialect that gave rise to the newer one.

To think such a discovery was hidden practically in Piltover's backyard this whole time. The fact that this had been ignored for the sake of prejudice frustrated Ezreal to no end, and he silently promised himself that he would do what he could to make it right. And the gypsies... All facts suggested that there had recently been gypsies in the area, but why had they come back after all these years? Had they always been quietly coming in here? And that, exactly, were they up to? Ezreal closed the journal again and prepared to take a rubbing of the characters on the Drakestone for later study. The right flank yielded characters for rubbing as well.

It was progress for sure, and Ezreal would have a lot to think about once he got back to Piltover. As for decoding the rubbings and charred papers... That would take time, if he found a way to decipher them at all. He doubted that he would be able to find the group who had been here earlier, as they were long gone now and as far as he knew, lived in a different part of Valoran entirely. The whole issue required more research.

The sun had sunk to the tips of the Ironspike Mountains by the time Ezreal left the clearing. Gypsies were ridiculously hard to find these days since they largely kept to themselves and tended to avoid leaving traces of their presence behind. He would talk to George, see if he knew of any way to contact someone who could decipher what he found. George claimed to have found the gypsies before, after all. It would be a start, at least.

* * *

The forests of Noxus were more sparse and grim than those in Freljord, and the lengthening shadows cast by the setting sun only served to make it even more intimidating. Twisted Fate paused beside a large tree to catch his breath. He was several miles from the border now and hoped that he would come across a town with an inn soon. Disguising himself would be a snap once he got there, since he'd been on the move since the Sejuani fight and hadn't taken the time to prepare a new disguise. His injured leg throbbed painfully, and Twisted Fate seated himself to try to ease it.

Really, such a thing was nothing compared to pain he had experienced in the past, though the fact that it was slowing him down and might cause lasting damage did have him worried. Something rustled the leaves above his head, loudly enough to make Twisted Fate jump with surprise and get to his feet. He looked up to find a large horned owl staring down at him, its eyes reflecting the glow of the sunset like golden lanterns. It was odd to see one out this early, and he wondered why this bird was even awake.

As Twisted Fate watched, the bird unfurled its wings and screeched his name. "_**Twisted Fate!**_" the owl's massive golden eyes seemed to bore into him as it repeated his name.

Twisted Fate's blood ran cold at the horrible sound. It was an old gypsy superstition, that those for whom the owl called would soon die. He believed it. There was no way an owl could ever _make_ the sounds required to say his name otherwise.

It was hard to breathe. Twisted Fate scrambled away from the base of the tree and turned to run. A large root tripped him and he fell flat on his face as the owl called for him again, pouring fresh panic onto his already-frayed nerves. He had to get away, maybe if he couldn't hear it the omen wouldn't come true.

The owl screeched for Twisted Fate until he had disappeared into the distance, at which point it folded its wings and sat quietly for a moment. A strange quiver seized the bird, as if it were trying to stifle laughter. It suddenly threw its head back to face the darkening sky and let out a long, human-like laugh.

Oh how satisfying, to see him scurry away like the vermin he was. It was so ridiculous to think he still believed that gypsy nonsense after being banished so long ago. The owl lowered its head again as the laughter faded, and its eyes narrowed as it stared in the direction Twisted Fate had gone. Now to find Graves and tell him where the little pest was.

With a loud shriek the owl leapt from the branch and flew away, to the northeast where the smog-ridden skies of Zaun would be found. The Outlaw had probably finished dealing with Dr. Rath by now, and the thought of handing Twisted Fate over to the unscrupulous scientist made the owl giddy all over again. It would serve him right for getting mixed up with _her_, and once Rath had him, there was little chance that the Card Master would ever see the light of day again.

* * *

A/N: Also I would like to say a big thank you to Viper of Grand for his encouragement, editing, and sanity checks. This wouldn't be possible or as high a quality without him.


	6. Chapter 6: The Hunter's Shadow

**Chapter 6: The Hunter's Shadow**

Summer nights in Zaun tended to cling to the skin like a sticky blanket, a direct result of the permanent smog layer that covered the city. Graves set the half-empty tumbler on the table before him and leaned back in his chair. He was seated in a modestly furnished room with a large open window that displayed the smog-clouded skyline of Zaun, taking a few minutes to review the terms given to him by Dr. Rath just a few hours before. They were favorable, to say the least. Twisted Fate would be kept as the scientist's prime test subject—a position that guaranteed a large helping of pain and misery—and Graves would receive the satisfaction of seeing his enemy suffer on top of whatever prizes Dr. Rath felt like giving him in return.

The Outlaw was skeptical about the luck magic business, though he couldn't deny that Twisted Fate seemed to possess a good amount of natural luck most of the time. All the same, Graves would be getting what he wanted. And that shapeshifter would, too...

Graves paused in his musings at the sound of fluttering wings, and he swept up his shotgun in one smooth movement to aim it at the currently-empty window. A large shadow appeared on the windowsill and screeched at him. Graves sighed as he turned away and lowered his gun; speak of the devil. "What d'ya want, Chimera?" he set the gun against his chair again and took another swig of his drink, but didn't turn to face the bird when he spoke. "Got somethin' worthwhile to talk about this time?" How annoying, and he hadn't even opened that window so Chimera could come in. The room had just gotten so damn stuffy, Graves forgot what else might blow in with a little "fresh" air.

The bird gave voice to a wicked chuckle and ruffled its wings. "Just that Twisted Fate has entered Noxus through their border with Freljord. Thought you ought to know," his voice dripped with false sweetness; the shapeshifter was well aware of Graves's dislike for him, which only made him all the more fun to prod.

"Well I'll be," Graves appreciated the tip, not that he'd let Chimera to know. The shapeshifter gave him the creeps. "Y'want a medal er somethin'?" he turned back to his drink just in time to miss Chimera changing his form.

"Now now, _Malcolm_," there was a dull thump as Chimera's body slid off the windowsill, followed by quiet taps and the occasional scuffle as he got his limbs in order. "I can't imagine why you dislike me so much," Chimera wore the form of a large black wolf when he stepped into Graves's view again. He gave the Outlaw a toothy grin, "We _are_ partners, aren't we?"

Graves remained surprisingly cool, all things considered. Compared to creatures like Cho'Gath and Nocturne, Chimera wasn't all that horrible. Still, it was only in comparison; Chimera out of context managed to be creepy in a special way all his own. "Hatin' the same guy doesn't make us _partners_," he swirled the contents of his tumbler. "And your reason fer hatin' him isn't anywhere near as decent as mine."

"Oh yes, it's more petty than revenge for a betrayal, certainly," Chimera sidled over to Graves and seated himself beside the Outlaw's shotgun, which was propped up against his chair. "But that doesn't change the fact that we are working together now, does it?"

A grunt was the only reply Graves gave him. Chimera was a clever thief, Graves would have never gotten his hands on the case files if the shapeshifter hadn't approached him with a proposal, but there was something distinctly wrong with him. It was like Graves could smell the crazy rolling off him in waves, and he found himself wondering just how much he might be able to trust Chimera down the line.

"You're not getting cold feet after talking to Rath, are you?" Chimera got to his feet and circled the table, having taken Graves's silence as possible doubt in what they planned to do. "You still want to see Twisted Fate suffer, probably more than I do."

"Naw, it's not that. I was jus' wonderin' how someone as batshit as you can still be alive," Graves took a swig of his drink and set the empty tumbler on the table. "Then I remembered that we're in Zaun and the whole damn place is run by crazies."

Chimera threw his head back and let out a laugh that matched Graves's impression of him perfectly. "So, when will you be setting out for Noxus? I admit that I _am_ eager to help you catch the little rat, if you would have me," he gave Graves a mock bow, head lowered and right foreleg tucked slightly beneath him.

"I'm gonna head over there in the mornin'," Graves got to his feet, relieved to have packing as an excuse to get away from the psychotic shapeshifter. "Got a town name I can go on rather than just some vague directions?"

"The closest town should have been Stornwick, you might be able to reach him before he can leave the area if you hurry," Chimera grinned and made his way to the window.

Graves averted his eyes from Chimera's transformation; the first time he'd seen it, the process had been disgusting enough to almost make him physically sick. "See you there," he hefted his shotgun in one hand and left the room by way of a side door.

Chimera had once again taken the shape of a large owl, and he lingered on the sill for a few moments before he turned and flew off into the city. Now that Graves was on the hunt, he wanted to see if his little trail of breadcrumbs had attracted the woman he was waiting for. He knew she would start at the newspaper that published the leak first and work her way backward, it was the most logical thing to do, after all.

The building that housed the _Central Zaun Times_ was quiet at this hour, but a few late-shift workers still remained in case a story happened to take place. Chimera took the form of a minor reporter whose identity he'd created for a few previous jobs and walked inside. The night guard seated behind the front desk gave him one glance and waved him through, then returned to the magazine he was reading. Late-night calls weren't at all unusual for this particular reporter.

Sure enough, there was a note on his desk stating that a man claiming to be an aspiring reporter had visited and asked about the Twisted Fate story. Chimera smiled; so Caitlyn was going for the male disguises to better keep people off her tail. Her skill with undercover work was certainly something to be admired, but he knew her methods and habits all too well by now. Since she came through earlier that day, it was a sure bet that she had already found the address associated with this particular identity and scouted it out at the very least.

Out of the building and into the form of an owl once again; he wanted to get to the house before her scent faded, and flying was the fastest way to go in the tangled streets of Zaun. He lifted off, and the name of the city-state faded as if carried away on the wind from his wings. What was the name of this place...? He still knew where to go, what it looked like from the air, but the name eluded him. Chimera landed on the roof of the house, silent as a shadow, and peered into the street and alleys below.

All was still at this late hour, with the majority of the noise coming from the busier main streets. He dropped into one of the alleys beside his house, the deep shadows hiding his transformation into a sharp-nosed bloodhound. The name of the man he'd just spoken with dropped from his ear and faded into the grime-covered street. It was important, but what was the man's name...?

There were a myriad of scents in this alley, of refuse and the strays that passed through here. But there, the scent he was looking for. It was faint, masked by other smells, but it was _her_ scent: gunpowder and tea, with the barest hint of cooking spices. Chimera's entire body shuddered, his canine lips loosened and hung from his lower jaw as he formed a maddened grin. Thin drool pooled behind his front teeth and trickled through the gaps between, further pushed on its way by the gust of his breath. Yes, she was here, he would see her again. His heartbeat quickened considerably as his hair stood on end. Everything would be better once he saw _her_.

Chimera kept to the shadows as he trailed the scent through the darkened streets. No need to allow himself to be readily noticed, after all. Dr. Mundo had been an annoyance several times in the past and he wasn't eager to deal with the purple behemoth at the moment. He followed the scent for several miles of street before finally coming to a halt before a seedy boarding house.

So Caitlyn was trying to keep to the shadows as much as possible, too. It was a good plan, since this kind of establishment didn't ask many questions about its patrons as long as they could pay. Chimera slipped into a nearby alley where he shifted yet again, his body shrinking to the form of a cat. The name of the man he now hated slid from his eyes and dissolved into nothing as they fell. Well, the name didn't matter anyway as long as the man was disposed of... He jumped lightly onto the fire escape and began checking the windows.

Caitlyn was in a room on the top floor, her back turned to the open window as she sat on the small bed and cleaned one of her handguns. Her window was open in a futile attempt to make her room a little cooler, which gave Chimera the perfect place to spy. She was quick, concise and tidy even in her movements, probably on high alert as well since she was deep in hostile—

The sniper whirled toward the window, a gun she had hidden under the sheets beside her in her hand and ready to fire. Caitlyn kept the gun trained on the empty windowsill for a few moments, then let out a small sigh and turned back to her work.

—territory. Chimera inched out of his hiding place, almost completely silent. Yes, she was more alert than usual at the moment. He kept to the edge of the windowsill as he settled back in to watch Caitlyn.

The faraway din of the inner city gradually faded from Chimera's awareness as he watched Caitlyn. Clarity returned at the mere sight of her. It felt good, like he stood on stable ground once again after spending so much time wading through muck. Such stability seemed hard to come by these days, especially with Caitlyn so distracted with Twisted Fate. Yes, that was his name. Damn that man, he would pay for catching her eye, the little worm.

Hah, worm... That was what Chimera had been before he was gifted with this wonderful power. Dr. Rath was truly a genius even in what he didn't intend to do. Those super soldiers he was contracted to create were a complete failure, and the government hadn't realized what a boon Chimera could be until after he escaped. The fools.

Chimera half-closed his eyes, the very picture of feline contentment as he watched Caitlyn reassemble the gun. The power was marvelous, but he kept... Losing pieces... Every day Chimera had felt his mind slipping further and further away, despite the ever-growing heists for his biggest client, and then _she_ appeared. Caitlyn. The first opponent to ever keep up with him in the slightest sense, and the sole source of this wonderful clarity. It was only while he sparred with Caitlyn that he felt most alive.

Caitlyn snapped the last piece of the gun into place and set it on the bedside table. Chimera just managed to duck out of sight as she cast another glance toward the open window, and he listened to her close it with a loud creak of the hinges from his hiding place on the fire escape. She had gone from the main room by the time he returned to watch, probably to clean herself up after a long day in such a filthy city.

Yes, Caitlyn was key. It already felt harder to think while she was out of his sight. She was beautiful, strong, intelligent, deadly, all traits to be desired in a worthy opponent. He had kept up with smaller, random heists once his main contract was finished, and Caitlyn kept up with him, even managed to foil his attempt a few times. It was wonderful when he had her full attention, when she slaved over the clues he left behind long into the small hours of the night.

But then Twisted Fate came along, and suddenly Chimera became... _Less_ important. Chimera couldn't take being shoved aside like that, to see how interested she became in Twisted Fate. The shapeshifter lashed his tail in annoyance. Fate would have to be taken care of, so Caitlyn could get back to worrying about the things that mattered, like Chimera. He needed to come up with what he would steal next, but first...

Chimera cast his gaze toward the rooftops, the smog layer that reflected the city's light. He wondered how far out of Zaun Graves might be at this point, and whether the Outlaw would be able to locate Twisted Fate before the Card Master moved on. One thing was certain, though. If things were to go back to the way they had been, Twisted Fate would have to be removed from the picture. Permanently.

* * *

Twisted Fate paused to lean against a tree after checking its branches thoroughly for any more owls. That damn bird still had him rattled, and he couldn't manage to convince himself that he somehow misheard it. He hadn't found a town that satisfied him, either, since he was still so on-edge. The one he passed about an hour ago seemed too busy, too many guards walking around. So here he was, still traipsing through the wilderness during the extreme early hours of the morning. Not that he would be able to sleep after the incident with the owl...

The light cast by the waning moon's imperfect circle was enough to walk by, but it robbed the landscape of color, made certain shapes indistinct. It did nothing to calm him down, and Twisted Fate often found himself doing double takes on shrubs and trees that looked suspicious due to the pale light. The various nocturnal creatures going about their usual business didn't help at all, either.

Something big shifted the underbrush just ten feet behind Twisted Fate, making him jump and whirl in an attempt to see what it might be. Even the creatures in the surrounding brush quieted down, as if watching to see what would happen next. Twisted Fate's heart pounded in his ears as he blindly drew a card and put his back to the tree he had been leaning against. Predator or enemy, either way it didn't sound good.

Silence hung around him like a suffocating fog, and Twisted Fate felt he might snap long before whatever else was out there made a move. His breaths were shallow, as quiet as possible to avoid giving himself away. Just as he considered hurling a few cards into the surrounding shrubs to startle whatever it was, the bushes to his right thrashed suddenly as something large moved through them.

Twisted Fate jumped at the sudden explosion of noise and hurled the card he held at the source of the noise. As his arm swung back to finish the arc of his throw, something whistled out of the darkness and pinned his forearm to the tree behind him. It was a crossbow bolt, but it didn't come from some no-name hunter's weapon. No, the horrible wracking ache that this type of ammo caused, it was due to its enchantments interfering with the magic that flowed through his body. That special pain pointed to one person, someone he'd faced several times before on the Fields of Justice.

_Vayne._ The Night Hunter was here, and she already had him snared. Twisted Fate's free hand darted toward the bolt, but he only had the time to wrap his fingers around it before a second bolt pinned that arm to the tree as well. Escape was out of the question now, with both arms pinned and the bolts wreaking havoc with his magic. He tried tugging against the bolts, and stopped when he felt the tendons and muscles in his arm start to tear.

A large shadow burst out of the bushes to his left and rushed forward, and Twisted Fate's head snapped up immediately at the flurry of movement. Pale moonlight glinted off red glass, played across frosted silver metal, and flashed around the edges of the massive bolt's tip. Vayne's control was uncanny, as she stopped directly in front of Twisted Fate without another movement, sticking the landing perfectly. The point of the crossbow bolt hovered mere inches from Fate's face, firm and unmoving.

Twisted Fate stopped breathing, for fear that even the slightest movement might provoke Vayne into firing that lethal crossbow bolt. He stood transfixed by the glint of Vayne's red glasses as his heart pounded painfully against his ribcage. There would be no escape, only whatever painful death Vayne had in mind for him.


	7. Chapter 7: A Dark and Lonely Dream

**Chapter 7: A Dark and Lonely Dream**

This was it. His life was about to end, it would take only the breadth of a moment, the slightest twitch of Vayne's finger on that lethal crossbow. Twisted Fate wanted to close his eyes, but it was hard to move, hard to even breathe. It was difficult to comprehend, that soon he would see what lay on the other side of death, and he didn't even have the hope that most of his family might be waiting for him there.

Vayne's head tilted forward ever so slightly, and the moonlight fell through the right lense of her glasses to reveal her eye. It was fixed on Twisted Fate, steady and unmoving, as she slowly lowered her crossbow and straightened. Her movements were slow and smooth, as if she were working with a skittish animal. It was somewhat true.

With the imminent threat of having his head impaled by the crossbow removed, Twisted Fate slumped back against the tree he was pinned to and slid down until he was resting on his knees. Tonight had _not_ been a good night for his nerves. Hell, it hadn't been a good _day_ with Tryndamere and the rest chasing him earlier. He didn't know how many more surprises he would be able to take.

"You're not out of the woods yet," Vayne had sensed his relief and decided to be brutally honest with him. Her eyes remained fixed on Twisted Fate as she slipped her hand into a belt pouch, not that he was in any position to really do anything at the moment. The movements of her hand stopped as her fingers found whatever she was searching for. Something flashed pale gold in the moonlight as Vayne drew it from the pouch. It was an amulet, its chain made from finely-wrought gold, and the pendant created from dark blue stones set within the circle. She settled the amulet over Twisted Fate's head and let it hang freely around his neck, then knelt down to eye level with him, arm-mounted crossbow at the ready. "Now, are you working with your brother?"

"_No_," the word came too quickly to Twisted Fate's lips, as if something were extracting the answer from him. So that was what the amulet was for...

"Are you working against him?"

"If you mean the animaturge, then yes," a cold anger settled over the fear, numbing it and removing some of the apprehension over what Vayne might do to him. "My brother died before the massacre even took place, because that dark mage got him before going after the rest of us."

Vayne nodded and got to her feet. "Let's move to a more secure location before we speak any further," she removed a small blade from a belt pouch, its surface engraved with faintly-glowing runes and symbols. "This will hurt, so bear with me," Vayne bent down and laid her free hand on Twisted Fate's left arm, which would have to be moved to free the other. She slid his forearm along the shaft of the bolt just enough to leave her room to use the knife.

Twisted Fate inhaled sharply at the renewed pain of the bolt pulling at his wound, but remained silent as Vayne did her work.

Once she had room, Vayne slid the dull blade of the knife over the exposed shaft of the bolt. The magic contained within the blade severed the bolt cleanly, and she lifted Twisted Fate's left arm away from the tree in order to get at his other arm. Soon Fate was free of the tree, but still unable to use his teleportation magic due to the bolt piece lodged in each forearm. He glanced at Vayne, which did not pass by her unnoticed.

"It's to keep you from running out on me," she straightened, bolt tips and shafts in one hand, and gestured for Twisted Fate to follow. "Plus, it will be easier to properly remove them when I have the necessary supplies."

"Right..." Twisted Fate let out a nearly silent sigh, but said no more. Vayne had a point. Hopefully this safe place would be close, at least. He got to his feet, legs still somewhat shaky from nerves and pain. The constant pull from being hung on the tree was gone, though the exposed flesh at the edges of his wounds was sensitive to the cold night air.

Vayne led the way just two feet ahead of him, glinting with silver in patches of moonlight and nearly invisible in pools of shadow. It was easy to see why any dark mage with even a speck of sense would be wary of her; just knowing she was there in the first place was a chore. He was lucky she'd chosen to interrogate him a bit first rather than just killing him outright. Or perhaps... It wasn't so much luck as it was Vayne having an agenda of her own in regards to him.

Exhaustion crept in and settled over his senses, drowning out all but the loudest noises and causing his vision to blur slightly. He lagged behind as the walk wore on, as the adrenaline from Vayne's ambush faded and the effects of the injuries he'd acquired that day piled up. His leg still gave him pain, he would need to look at it more closely once they got to this "secure location" Vayne spoke of, on top of bandaging his arms. Shooting him was excessive but not surprising considering it was Vayne he was dealing with. She took her job _very_ seriously.

Twisted Fate nearly drifted into a tree and just managed to correct himself in time. Though he avoided walking right into it, he still got close enough to jostle his right arm on its trunk. He hissed at the renewed pain and knelt there to rest his legs a bit.

"Will you make it?"

The Card Master looked up to find Vayne standing over him. "Yeah..." he got slowly to his feet, careful to move his arms as little as possible. Just moving the fingers caused additional pain, with the bolt pieces stuck between the two bones in each forearm. "You didn't really make it easy..."

"It's not much longer," Vayne turned and began to lead the way again, head turned just enough to make sure he was following her.

Within a few minutes the two arrived at a thick copse of trees and Vayne halted in front of the foremost. She turned toward the rest of the forest, scanned the trees for any threats, and returned her attention to the tree. Vayne knelt briefly before the large oak, again lost in a deep shadow that prevented Fate or anyone else from seeing what she was doing. When she stood again, a large hole yawned at the tree's base.

Vayne took Twisted Fate by the elbow and carefully led him down the hole. She could feel the exhaustion that weighed on his body as soon as she touched him, from the slight tremors that ran through his arm to the weary sluggishness of his pace. The tunnel was pitch black, and Twisted Fate was forced to rely on Vayne to guide him. She moved as easily in the dark as most did in a well-lit room. It was uncanny, and Twisted Fate found himself wondering whether it was by some magical device, or whether she had somehow managed to attune her eyesight to the dark.

The darkness made it difficult to determine the passage of time. Pain and exhaustion made every moment stretch on for an eternity, but finally his boots met level ground. Vayne released Fate's arm and moved further into the room, leaving him isolated in the inky abyss. He strained his ears in attempt to hear where Vayne was, only to be greeted with what he perceived to be silence. The Night Hunter moved so quietly that those with normal hearing could not detect her.

Lights flared above and before him, shockingly brilliant after the darkness he'd been immersed in. Twisted Fate raised an arm to shield his eyes, overcompensated and smacked himself in the eye with his right forearm. He scowled at the renewed pain and his own clumsiness as he dropped the arm and tried to see into the room, still squinting against the sudden change in lighting.

It was spacious, about half the size of the hideaway he'd hidden himself in almost a week ago. _Almost a week... Has it really been that long already?_ Vayne herself stood beside a small panel sunken into the earth wall of the room. Furnishings consisted of several tables, chairs, various cupboards set into the walls and a few that formed counters with their tops, a stove and oven, and what appeared to be equipment for cleaning or repairing various types of weaponry. Five tunnels on the room's far side led off into darkness, probably for sleeping spaces or lavatory. The air was pleasantly warm, and the earth tones of the furniture and walls gave the chamber a certain cozy feel. _Cozy_... Now that was a word Twisted Fate never thought he would be associating with anything to do with Vayne.

"What _is_ this place?" Twisted Fate made his way over to the nearest chair and took a seat, this time more careful to mind his injured arms.

"We call them haunts," Vayne went through the cabinets, removing various medical supplies and setting them on the counters above before shutting them again. "We use them as safe havens to hide and rest while on hunts or journeys," she unlatched the bottom of a cabinet and removed a large cold pack from a hidden ice chest beneath, then gathered the supplies in her arms and strode over to the table Twisted Fate was seated beside.

Twisted Fate remained silent as he watched her. Finally he would be rid of the bolts, though he figured that was guaranteed to be a painful ordeal in and of itself. His leg was hurting even worse now too, with a horrible stabbing ache that burned right next to his shin bone. He felt tense despite the anticipation; he was in a strange place with arms shot through with a crossbow bolt each with a witch hunter who was famous for showing no mercy on her missions. Despite her relative friendliness, it was difficult to trust her just yet, and Twisted Fate didn't give trust easily to begin with.

Vayne set the supplies on the table: bandages, flasks of potions and medicine, bindings for sprains, the cold pack, and the loose pieces of the bolts that were now stuck in Twisted Fate's arms. She set a thick white cloth on the table and went to the sink, scrubbing her hands several times over to ensure that they were clean. Hands washed, Vayne returned to the table and held out her hand to Fate, who gave her his left arm. With Fate's hand held firmly in her own to keep him from doing any unnecessary squirming, Vayne picked up a bolt tip and aligned it with the piece in his arm. Nothing happened, and she let out a quiet "tsk" and picked up the other. This time the two pieces connected with a quiet "_schnik"_ and became a single shaft again. At the same moment, the constant magical ache in Fate's arm faded until it was no longer outmatching the plain pain of having been impaled by a crossbow bolt. It was a cunning piece of magic, one that would ensure that the bolts could be removed and reused later.

With the pieces connected, Vayne dripped the contents of one of the flasks over the wound, which began to numb immediately after the liquid made contact with Fate's skin. She then carefully removed the bolt, which slid easily out of Twisted Fate's arm. The Card Master shivered with discomfort as his tendons and muscles tried to slip back into proper alignment. Blood seeped from the now-exposed flesh and soaked into the cloth as Vayne picked up a deep red flask and poured some of its contents into the injury.

The flesh began to knit itself back together mere seconds after the potion made contact. Twisted Fate's fingers twitched as the tendons and muscles repaired themselves and slipped back into their proper place. It was a bit unnerving to look at, but the anesthetic Vayne had applied earlier kept it from hurting.

Vayne did the same with Fate's other arm, and soon enough he was well on his way to making a full recovery in regards to the crossbow bolt injuries. Neither said a word during all of this, though Fate did his fair share of grimacing before the anesthetic kicked in. Now there was just his leg injury to deal with.

"Thanks," Fate removed his arms from the table and bent down to get a better look at his leg. Swelling made it difficult to get his boot off, and the right side of his calf sported a long, ugly bruise where a tree branch had hit him. He looked up to find Vayne pushing the cold pack and a thick cloth binding toward him.

"I noticed you limping earlier," she said simply.

Twisted Fate accepted the cold pack and wrapped it in a thin cloth from the medical supplies as Vayne got to her feet. Cool relief followed the initial chill when he applied it to his leg, and the bindings ensured that it would stay on until he chose to remove it. With that done, he propped his leg up on a nearby chair and looked around to see what Vayne was doing.

The heavy, mouth-watering smell of cooking meat filled the room as Vayne prepared a meal. She was quick and efficient with her movements, as sharp now as she was on the hunt. Fate found that her poise and obvious physical strength were more than a little intimidating up close.

Vayne turned her head just enough for him to glimpse the corner of her right eye, "I know you're weary, but could you tell me about the massacre in detail?" She put a lid on the pan to allow the food to cook further and returned to the table. "There may yet be valuable information to glean from it."

"Well, if that's what you want," Fate placed his bag on the table and reached inside. The book came to his hand almost instantly as he thought of it, though it was so wide he was forced to use both hands to get it through the bag's mouth. It was bound in black leather, completely unadorned on the outside, and at the moment, it would greet the potential reader with nothing more than blank pages. Twisted Fate flipped to the inside cover and retrieved a pen from his bag as well. As Vayne watched, he quickly jotted down a single word and sat back as the fresh ink sank into the page. The book twitched, and its pages briefly rustled as if someone were thumbing through them. Fate turned the page to reveal that the next was filled with information written in a concise, steady hand, with notes in the margins as well. "Here, this is everything I've got," Fate slid the book over to Vayne and sat back in his chair. "Just close it again once you're done."

Vayne ran a finger along the edge of the book's cover, scanning the page before her eyes flicked up to Twisted Fate's face. "These are very rare books, where did you get this?" there was an edge of warning to her voice; if he'd stolen it, he would regret it.

"Got it from an antique shop in Zaun," Twisted Fate held up his hands to show he had nothing to hide. "I didn't ask where it came from."

The Night Hunter's eyes flicked to the amulet that Twisted Fate still wore, then dropped back to the book. She believed him. "These books are typically made and used by witch hunters. I would be very interested to meet this antique shop owner once this is all over," Vayne left the book and got to her feet to tend to the food again.

Twisted Fate drifted between sleep and consciousness while Vayne was occupied. A confusion of images and sounds slipped past him until the hard _snap_ of ceramic plate against tabletop brought him back to reality. The plate was filled with beef, carrots and potatoes, and thankfully it was a smaller portion than usual; Vayne had realized that Fate wanted to spend as little time on eating as possible and just get to sleep already. He felt as if he might nod off at any moment, even as he began to eat.

In the end, Twisted Fate was only able to finish two thirds of the food before his face started drifting dangerously close to the plate. He rubbed his face in an attempt to get himself to wake up a bit more, but Vayne interrupted him.

"Drink this and get some sleep," she poured a shot glass worth of dark green liquid from the final medicine flask and passed it to him. "This uses the body's energy as well as the magic stored within it to heal you, so at least you managed to eat _something_ before resting for the night," Vayne almost seemed miffed that Twisted Fate had been unable to finish the meal, though he didn't immediately jump to the conclusion that it was because she liked cooking; if he had to guess, it would be the waste of food stores that she might very well have to replenish herself before she left the area.

"This tastes _really_ bad, doesn't it?" Fate eyed the medicine with suspicion, then downed it in a single gulp. The awful flavor took a few moments to catch up with him, carrying with it the essence of moldy cheese drowned in pureed dead rat. Twisted Fate tried to keep himself from coughing for the sake of politeness and failed miserably.

The ghost of a smile hovered about Vayne's lips at the sight, "So what does it taste like for you?"

Fate coughed again and resisted the urge to wipe his tongue on the napkin beside his plate. "What you'd imagine Twitch would taste like," he winced as he did his best to shove any additional thoughts about the Plague Rat out of his head; the sentient rodent's smell was so unique and awful that just remembering his existence would conjure its phantom duplicate in your nose. "What does it taste like for you?"

Vayne looked up from the book again and regarded Fate very seriously. "Dog log," she said, face straight as the crossbow bolts she dispatched her enemies with.

It took Twisted Fate a few moments to figure out what Vayne meant by that statement, and the sheer surprise at hearing such a thing from her made him burst out laughing. He tried to stifle himself incase Vayne took offense to his laughter, but when he looked up she seemed as unperturbed as ever. Fate decided to take a little chance, "So how do you know?"

"I don't, I'm trying to get you to relax," she paused. "A friend told me that it makes things a little easier when your ally isn't so intimidated by you."

Ally, huh? Well, at least he was in the clear in that respect... "Pretty good advice," he added, in the hopes that she might tell him who she considered a "friend". It was a word that seemed too close for someone like Vayne to use, and one she wouldn't use lightly.

"Yes, it is."

No dice, not that he was going to complain. Twisted Fate unwrapped his leg, which was feeling better for the time with the ice pack, and set the wrappings and thawed pack on the tabletop beside his plate. The laugh had gone a long way to relieving his tension over being around Vayne, and the pain from his injuries was at a pleasant minimum compared to what they were earlier. He got to his feet, boot in hand, and began to make his way over to the far wall with its five tunnels.

"You should take the amulet off, by the way," Vayne looked up from the book again as Twisted Fate passed her on the other side of the table.

Fate stopped and looked down at his chest. He had honestly forgotten that the amulet was still on him, and he quickly slipped it up and over his head with his free hand and set it on the table. Vayne returned to the book once the amulet was on the table, and Fate continued on to the far wall without interruption. "So which one of these do I use?"

"The far right. The one just to the left of it is the lavatory," Vayne didn't look up when she spoke, already heavily absorbed in what she was reading.

Twisted Fate made his way down the passage, still limping slightly despite the reduced pain in his leg. The tunnel was dim and stretched on for about six feet before it ended in a solid wooden door, which opened into a fair-sized room with a bed, chest, and table and chair set. There was also a small sink set into its left-hand wall, where those staying in the room could wash up and clean their teeth. Fate prepared for bed as quickly as he could and gratefully slipped under the covers.

Sleep came quickly, leaving Twisted Fate only enough time to realise that he had only put off talking about the massacre for a single night. Vayne would still press for more information tomorrow, even with the journal to satiate her for now. A sharp pang of sadness arced through his mind as the medicine and his own exhaustion dragged him into a deep slumber.

* * *

_This forest was familiar to him. _

_Fate brushed his fingers against the smooth, rolling bark of an aspen as he made his way forward. This aspen and its neighbors were strong, green, tall and proud, trees that would make any onlooker roll his or her head back just to appreciate their beauty. The tree dropped a few leaves on his hat, and the rustle of its branches sounded like a greeting to an old friend. _

_But something was wrong with the stretch of forest that lay before him._

_The trees that rose here were dead or dying, shedding their brown, crackling leaves like a dark and malevolent rain. This wasn't the natural near-death that the forest experienced in preparation for winter, no turning of a cycle. It was wretched, unnatural. Dead leaves crunched beneath his boots, almost deafening to his ears after the muffled loam of the forest behind him. Fate cast a glance behind himself, and saw that the aspen he had stood below just moments before was in the process of dying as well. Even the greener leaves that the tree had just shed on him were withering._

_Whatever the source of this misery, it was spreading quickly. So just what lay at its center, exactly? Irresistible curiosity drove him forward, through the dying forest and the countless falling leaves. A low, quiet foreboding gnawed at the back of his mind, but it was just quiet enough to allow him to continue forward._

_A thick hedge of dead bushes blocked his path, stretching endlessly off to either side as far as he could see. Even with all their leaves gone, the branches alone were enough to completely obscure the other side. Forward would do as well as any other path; Twisted Fate shoved his way through the bushes. They caught and scratched at him like animate creatures, drawing lines of burning fire along his cheeks and hands, even digging through his clothing to get at the skin beneath in some places._

_The end of the hedge was abrupt, the sudden loss of resistance causing Fate to stumble as he reached the other side. What lay on the deadened leaves just before him now was enough to generate a shock so powerful it felt as if he'd been struck._

_Honavir of Coyote, father of Twisted Fate and Shorokay. He lay sprawled on the forest floor where someone had carelessly thrown his body, blood from the vicious slash on his neck pooling around his dark head in a morbid halo. His skin had lost almost all color, the warm golden brown replaced by frigid ashen white. The precious heirloom coat he'd always worn was gone, taken by one of the attackers, and the four element staffs that could have saved his life left at home for this journey. That he not bring those staffs was part of the agreement, what Honavir stated would bring better times for them. And they killed him for it. He tried to make peace, and they killed him._

_Grief pressed in on Twisted Fate's throat, chest, the corners of his eyes like dozens of tiny knives. There were no words. His hands shook as he held them out toward his father's body, as he drew closer in the hope that maybe, maybe he was still somehow alive. _

_But Honavir's body was cold to the touch. Cold enough to drain the life from the surrounding forest. The deep red of his blood ran smoothly into the black of dead leaves. Honavir was long gone._

_Fate knelt beside his father now, the blood that flowed slowly around his kneecaps so icy it was painful to the touch. He reached down, tried to get his hand behind his father's head, through the long black hair soaked in freezing blood. If he could move him somewhere better, to a place where he could be given a proper burial, one worthy of their protector, his father... But Honavir was stuck fast, even his hair was immovable. Twisted Fate scratched at the earth just below the frozen locks, pushed against it. His left hand slipped, and suddenly he was up to his elbow in blood, as the ground dropped off sharply into a frigid, wet abyss just inches from Honavir's head._

_The cold burned ever more fiercely now, and Fate gasped at the pain as he whipped his arm out of the pool and cradled it against his chest. He curled his body around the forearm, trying to warm it as quickly as possible, to stop the horrible pain it gave him. His body heat did nothing to help, and the cold began to spread from his arm and knees, slow and excruciating as it wormed its way into every part of his body._

_It was far colder than anything he had ever experienced before. His skin felt cracked in dozens of places, his body frigid enough that it might shatter if he made a wrong move. Breaths came in short, pained gasps as the biting chill continued to steal all heat from his body. He felt empty, like an abandoned shell. Lost. Sad beyond all imagining. And there was another feeling there, bubbling up to fill the void inside, but somehow leaving him more empty than before._

_Hatred._

_Outsiders. Twisted Fate raised his head slowly and grit his teeth in anger. It was their fault, every one of them was guilty for his father's death. Those who carried out the murder. Those who sat by and let it happen. Those who stood ignorant, willing or not, of what had taken place. They would __**all**_ _pay for this._

_A splash of color flitted through the bleak landscape, just at the edge of his vision. Deep brown, with patterned highlights of turquoise, bright red, golden yellow... _

_So that was where they'd gotten off to. Fate rose to his feet, breaths deepening in rage despite the constant pain. The shadow that held Honavir's precious coat in its arms paused beside a dead tree and seemed to look back, then continued on at a run. His body still felt fragile from the cold, but he didn't care anymore. He would break himself if that was what it took to kill them._

_Twisted Fate dashed after the shadow, long strides eating up the distance between them with surprising speed. Swift, painful. Agony jolted up each leg as it made contact with the ground, each step felt like it might shatter him then and there, but it became easier and easier. Soon he could no longer feel the pain, and he was catching up. Only a few more strides and he would lay hands on the wretch who dared to even touch his father's coat._

_The figure suddenly rose in a flying leap, but Fate was going too fast to jump in time as well. A deep ravine yawned beneath his feet, and the momentum of his charge carried him headlong into it. His landing was painful, and it jolted him out of his train of thought, allowed despair to close in once again. The ravine seemed to grow darker around him as a deep ache filled his chest. He felt weak, the ravine walls were so steep... He would never get out now..._

_A familiar face appeared overhead at the rim of the ravine and smiled down at him. Sho. He was only sixteen when Twisted Fate last saw him, still in the process of growing into his adult face and with skin as dark as their father's. Sho had come to help him up, just as he'd done so many times before..._

_Relief washed over Fate, though the darkness in the ravine continued to close in. He ignored it and reached for his brother's hand. Just before their fingers could touch, something trickled from Sho's hand and dripped onto Twisted Fate's face. _

_It scalded him like boiling water, raising painful blisters the instant it touched his skin. He scrambled away as more fell from Sho's hand and into the ravine. The liquid was deep red and steamed from its own heat, giving off the thick, coppery scent of fresh blood. _

_Sho's smile remained frozen on his face as more of the scalding blood flowed over the side of the ravine like a stream. Twisted Fate pressed himself against the far wall in an attempt to escape it, but it rose too quickly and already came up to his knees. The wall was too steep to climb, and now it was so sheer that he couldn't even get any hand holds to lift himself up._

_The blood was up to the middles of his thighs as he broke for the area of the ravine that lay uphill. It was thicker than water, harder to move through. Fate struggled against the rising stream, tripped and was immersed up to his shoulders in the stuff before he managed to catch himself. Searing agony lanced through every part of his body and forced him to his feet again. _

_Despair was compounded by grief, shock and terror. He knew where the blood came from. Sho... The monster took Sho, killed their family, their mother... And now it was coming to get him, too._

_Terror lent him additional speed as he cast about for a way to escape. He lifted his head and saw that the ravine walls were shorter ahead, where he would be able to jump and pull himself up to safety. The river of blood continued to rise around him, threatening to overwhelm him with pain at any moment._

_Twisted Fate jumped, caught the ledge and pulled himself up. Steam still rose from the blood that clung to his clothes, and the heavy smell of it was stifling, but at last he was free of the scalding agony of the torrent that raged just below him. He pulled himself further away from the edge and collapsed. Sho had always been so strong, always been there to protect him or help when he needed it. The murder of their father left Sho weak from grief and anger, vulnerable to the intrigues of the animaturge, but Sho's body wasn't enough, and he came for the rest of the tribe soon after. _

_Hatred and anger flared again as the pain began to die down and the blisters faded. The outsiders again. It was their fault. If they had just left his father alone, kept their promise about the agreement, then none of this would have happened. Though the blisters were gone the pain lingered, sharp, pulsating, burning inside his bones and making it difficult to breathe from the intense heat._

_A flutter of movement caught his eye, and Twisted Fate's head snapped up. There stood the figure with his father's coat, and there was another with it this time. It would be harder to fight two with just his bare hands_— _But then, he didn't have just his bare hands anymore, did he? _

_No, he had magic now. Fate surged to his feet, and checked his belt for the pouch that held his cards, checked pockets for any he might have hidden away. The two figures dashed off at his sudden movement. Fine. He would get them sooner or later. It was only a matter of time. _

_There were cards in his vest pockets, but they were soaked through, completely useless. Something settled on one as he tried to find any that were still usable. It was black, and the shape... Like a spade. A withered aspen leaf. _

_Spades... His mind, his magic, liked the shapes and symbols associated with cards. Perhaps it came from the long years spent as a card shark and conman, maybe from some ironic connection with his luck, at the moment he didn't care. All that mattered was the fact that he could use these._

_Brilliant turquoise magic flared around the leaf, spread to the others that fell all around him. They stopped in the process of falling, shifted as the blue flame consumed them, and abruptly snapped into a rigid shape. There, dozens of tiny razor-sharp spades, just waiting to be thrown. _

_Twisted Fate tossed the spade in his hand up and caught it easily. It had good weight, though it was a bit small. It would be similar to throwing knives, ridiculously easy for someone who threw cards on a regular basis. Though these... They responded to his movements, followed him in the air like a living cloud. All the easier to use._

_A fierce heat burned in his chest as he set off at a jog, the spades clustering around him and following like a swarm of glinting, razor-sharp flies. It made him feel stronger but... He still felt empty, like the fire was eating away at him from the inside, hollowing him out until there was nothing left. The thought vanished from his mind as he caught sight of the two shadows again. _

_They led him straight to another group of shadows. Hah. How fortunate. A group would be easier to take down in one shot with the spades. He allowed himself a grim smile and cast his right hand forward._

_The cloud of spades instantly snapped their points toward the enemy and shot forward, shrieking as they cut through the air that separated them from the target. In an instant, it was over. The figures dropped as they were impaled by the spades and lay still as their blood stained the withered leaves of the forest floor._

_Fate straightened and walked toward the crowd of bodies. No need to hurry now_—

_The heat was suddenly overwhelming, consuming any air he could get before it even reached his lungs. He fell to his knees and clutched at his chest, where this confounded heat was coming from. It was like trying to breathe boiling water. Twisted Fate fell forward and pressed his burning forehead against the ground in an attempt to cool himself. The heat subsided after a few moments and he could breathe again, though the burning pain still lingered._

_Once the heat faded enough, Twisted Fate got to his feet and made his way to the bleeding shadows. Here, at the front, was the one who had his father's coat. At this distance he was able to see that they were wearing dark cloaks with hoods, which was why they appeared like shadows in the first place. Fate knelt and ripped the hood off the figure that even now clutched at the coat. _

_It was faceless. The face and head were a mass of indistinct shadow, too dark to make out any human features. Fine, at least it was dead now. He stood, kicked the body aside and picked up the coat, then moved on to the next._

_Twisted Fate knelt beside the next shadow, removed its hood and recoiled in shock. This one did have a face, but... It was George's face, the face of the man who took him in and accepted him after his own kind turned him away. No, not George, he didn't mean to... George wasn't an enemy, he was a friend and now he..._

_The hungering cold began to close in again, accompanied by a choking tightness in his chest and throat. George treated him like a son, he was the closest thing Fate had to family after the massacre... Fear followed close behind as he looked at the other shadows that lay crumpled on the ground, where they had fallen as they died. Who else...?_

_He removed the hood of the next figure with hands that shook and found_—_Kera, a woman he loved in the past, who he'd wanted to settle down with before_—

_Something fluttered quietly behind him, like the wings of a hunting owl. It was followed by a near-silent creak..._

_The creak of a crossbow as it was being loaded._

_**"You said all of them were guilty."**_

_Fate couldn't tell who said it. It didn't sound like his own voice, or like the voice of anyone he knew. But it was true, he'd thought that earlier, when it was his father's body he knelt beside. They were outsiders. They accepted him, loved him, did what his own people would not, and he killed them. He killed his friends along with the guilty, and that meant..._

_The creak of leather now as whoever it was standing behind him adjusted a boot or glove. He swallowed, and slowly turned._

_Vayne stood over him, dark and imposing, like a patch of the night sky shot through with burning silver. The large crossbow she kept holstered on her back was now in her hands and aimed at his head. This again? It felt so familiar, but... Vayne's red glasses were gone, and there was something wrong with her right eye. It was blind and clouded with blood, overflowing with it, the startling red hue brilliant against the pale skin of her cheek as it ran down her face._

_The Night Hunter, shadow of vengeance, the dark arbiter who appeared out of nowhere to smite the wicked. She lowered the crossbow slightly, so that the bolt's barbed tip hovered barely an inch from Twisted Fate's right eye. Almost instantly the vision in the eye darkened until it was blind, and something wet seared its way down his face. _

_It startled him, and he raised a hand to his cheek to brush at the burning liquid before he realized what he was doing. The intense heat raised blisters on the tips of his fingers, as it was already doing on his face and his neck as it flowed through his beard. Vayne lowered the crossbow, this time aiming for his heart._

_The blood of friend and enemy alike flowed cold around his knees, even as the blood that flowed from his blind eye and dripped from his face scalded the back of his right thigh. Such an extreme contrast was even more painful than either of the two sensations alone. Who knew how many others he cared about were among the bodies this time. Even if it were only one, it wouldn't be worth it... _

_Familiar, yes. And this time, he was the one who deserved it._

_Twisted Fate closed his eyes and lowered his head as Vayne pulled the trigger..._

* * *

...And woke to find himself in the dark little room he'd fallen asleep in just hours before. The bed sheets pressed on him with stifling heat, and he pushed them back to give himself a little air. His right leg felt stiff though completely free of pain, and Fate stretched it as he drew his legs out from under the mounded covers. Twisted Fate was dressed only in a pair of boxers, it being a warm night and the haunt having such a pleasant temperature, so he began to cool quickly. He tried not to think about the dream as he cooled off, though this proved almost impossible as its imagery quickly crept back into his mind the moment his attention lapsed.

It was so vivid, the sights and sensations came through so clearly even after he was awake, but he was sure that it wasn't a precognitive dream... Right? He could only glimpse the future through the use of his cards, not through dreams. Besides, it incorporated so much from his past, it didn't feel like something that was meant to tell him of the future. Fate told himself that it was a result of the deep anxieties he'd been feeling lately, on top of constant stress and maybe even the drug Vayne gave him before he went to sleep. Yes, that was it.

The events surrounding the massacre—and the murder of Twisted Fate's father just two months before—were naturally painful to think about, and he did his best to forget about them when he could. It had been easier to forget about his past in the old days, back when he had others to lean on... To have Caitlyn rip those old wounds open again during her investigations, on top of Vayne asking now, it was no surprise that he would be unable to escape thinking about it.

A light chill began to settle on Twisted Fate's body as he reached a more comfortable temperature. He slipped his feet under the mounded covers and rolled one of the sheets back up to his shoulders. Tomorrow he would have to face Vayne and her questions, and the inevitable pain of having to recall his suffering in detail.

Another thought struck Twisted Fate just as he was about to drift off to sleep again. He _didn't_ always need his cards to get a glimpse of the future now. The short-term prediction he could do now, it didn't require his cards, just a lot of magic and mental focus. What if he was developing other precognitive abilities he didn't know about? The thought worried him, especially with how the dream ended... No, there was no way he would ever willingly turn on George and the others he truly cared about.

_Was there...? No. No, stop thinking like that. Don't be ridiculous..._

Yet another thought crept up to nip at him as he hovered on the edge of consciousness. Back in the day, he'd never thought he would have to betray Graves either...

* * *

A/N; Yet again a _huge_ thank you to Viper of Grand for helping me edit and work out what I wanted. This would not be possible without him!


End file.
